


You Are Cordially Invited to the Wedding of Franklin Nelson & Marci Stahl

by katzell



Category: Daredevil (TV), Iron Fist (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Luke Cage (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Foggy Nelson, Canon Compliant, Exes, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Multi, Mutual Pining, Past Luke Cage/Claire Temple - Freeform, Past Matt Murdock/Elektra Natchios, Past Matt Murdock/Foggy Nelson, Past Matt Murdock/Karen Page, Slow Burn, This starts as fluff and then develops a plot, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 51,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27049462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katzell/pseuds/katzell
Summary: Franklin "Foggy" Nelson and Marci Stahl are finally getting married! Or they will be, if they can safely navigate the logistics of planning a massive wedding, family and career expectations, and most dangerously, the messiness of their extended friend group. Foggy and Marci's wedding forces various characters to take stock of their lives, their relationships, and what they want from the future. Of course, there are no fancy galas in superhero stories without also inviting real peril as well.Taking place after the end of the Marvel shows' run on Netflix, this fic employs a multi-character POV structure to explore questions like:Will Foggy figure out the seating chart without losing his god damned mind?Will Marci, Karen, and Matt ever be friends?Will Karen and Frank ever figure out what is going on between them?Will Matt develop emotional maturity?Is Jessica OKAY?!Will Claire even go to this wedding when not one, but two exes she hasn't talked to in years will be there?No one really cares about Danny's problems and he finds that hurtful.This story is not compliant with the larger Marvel Cinematic Universe. No one has been, or will ever be, snapped.
Relationships: Frank Castle/Karen Page, Franklin "Foggy" Nelson/Marci Stahl, Luke Cage/Jessica Jones, Matt Murdock/Claire Temple
Comments: 62
Kudos: 59





	1. 10 Years Until The Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> Other relationships may be present in this story. I've tried to tag only the ones where extensive time was devoted to exploring those dynamics. Additionally, the graphic violence tag only applies to certain chapters. I will indicate in the notes if that is coming. Readers should be able to skip those sections, should they choose, and navigate instead to the fluff, the unresolved sexual tension, or the friendship goals sections. 
> 
> Chapter 1: Pure Foggy/Marci Fluff

Marci hits Foggy with a snowball in the back of the head. She had been talking! But one phone call from Matt Murdock and it’s like she doesn’t even exist. She’s not jealous of Matt. She’s crazy jealous of Matt. It would be one thing if Foggy and Matt were actually dating, but she knows about the girl in Punjabi. She knows about the Elektra Natchios, perhaps the only woman on campus Marci might admit is out of her league. (Whatever money that family has is, well, “old as balls.”) Given that Matt is therefore unlikely to be inviting Foggy back to bang, Foggy should do her--Marci Stahl-- the curtesy of finishing their fucking conversation. The thud of the snowball hitting Foggy’s head is deeply satisfying.

He hangs up with a snap of his flip phone and storms back across the snowy quad. He’s furious and Marci can’t believe how sexy that is. Other girls are idiots. The ones in her sorority who see him as a scholarship try hard. The ones who only flirt with him for help with their papers. The ones who only invite him to events because he always brings a keg. 

They don’t see the way he sweet talks campus security before every party, ensuring another successful night. They don’t see the way he and Matt--because Matt is more perceptive than his wounded puppy shtick presents--will deescalate fights, separate her intoxicated sisters from aggressive men, and in general keep trouble out. Foggy does all of this while shotgunning Natty light. Franklin Nelson is impressive. 

But when Foggy is angry, when he finally stops being amiable and starts being righteous, that makes her go hot all over. Focused, sharp, and pissed, Foggy crosses his arms and glares at her. Marci feels like the floor has dropped out from under her. Or maybe the thrill is more like being in a shark cage (not that Marci would do anything so gauche) because she knows she is the reason his nice boy act has finally cracked.

“What the hell, Marci!”

“We are not done!”

“As much as I would like to hear you continue to defend technological determinism and the power of the internet to democratically reconstitute power dynamics, all to support the lack of regulation in a market, which, by the way, is completely mad and let’s face it, naive in the extreme, Matt just bought a bottle of Old Grandad and rented a really shitty action movie. So I am going to go pick up a pizza and go hang out with my friend who has just been dumped. This is the first time he’s spoken in a week.”

“No,” Marci retorts. “We are going back to my apartment to finish prepping for the amicus brief we are submitting in TWO DAYS because I can’t even start my section until we agree on the position we are going to be arguing. And again, for the record, the position that you are suggesting is going to strangle innovation and could cost the economy literally trillions of dollars.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry for Matt. Well, not really. Murdock and Natchios were horrible together and you know it. He’s lucky he didn’t get kicked out of school. Fucking around is fine when you have parents to bail you out but god damned stupid if you don’t. Matt can drink the first half of that bottle while we sort this assignment because he’s not bringing you down with him.”

Foggy is glaring at her. He is really and truly pissed off. Not the way he was when they were talking about the assignment, but scary furious. It’s still hot, but Marci feels a little bad. But just a little. And she’s still right.

“You don’t know anything about Matt. He needs me right now, so I am going to be there. And you can go to hell. Matt, and I, don’t need you looking down at us from your daddy’s $4k a month apartment. We can take care of ourselves.”

“Asshole.”

“If you are worried about your grade, just do what you want. Send me your pages and I’ll follow your lead. It’s just a fucking assignment.”

“I am not worried about the assignment, I am worried about you, asshole!” 

Foggy pauses mid storm off. He turns, hands in his pockets. His ridiculous hair is blowing in the wind. It’s so so cold. She hadn’t realized it until now because she had been having such a good time. Now it doesn’t feel fun anymore. 

“About me?” He’s so confused. He’s such an idiot. 

“Yes asshole. You have been miserable for weeks. Matt has been a jerk for the entire semester. He shouldn’t just get to have you as a friend on his own terms. You have stuff going on too! Right now. We are in the middle of something. I am trying to be in the middle of something with you.”

“Marci.” Foggy scrunches his nose, his eyes wide. “Do you like me?”

The way Marci sees it, she has two options. She either shoves his head in a snowbank and tries to smother him. Or… Marci grabs him by the shoulders and presses her mouth hard against his. It’s not even really a kiss at first. She’s so angry her mouth is a hard line and she can feel her teeth clenched together. Foggy’s lips are chapped and the air around them is bitter. She’s about to pull away and go back to Plan A, death by snowbank, when she feels him soften and her heart thuds in her chest. She feels her own lips press back and then his tongue slips into her mouth and she forgets all about the cold. 

When they finally break apart, both of them are breathing hard. Foggy looks shocked. Marci wants to grab him and drag him back to her place. Seducing him would have been so much easier if Matt had not called. They should have already been back at her apartment which she had cleaned and where there are clean sheets on the bed and scented candles waiting to be lit. 

“What do you want to do?” Marci demands. 

Foggy calls Matt, his voice a bit sheepish, and asks if it’s okay if he comes back in a few hours. Marci frowns at that but Foggy just shrugs. She feels pathetic for taking what she can get. But she will take it.

“What now?” Foggy asks, after he hangs up his phone. He looks a little flustered. Marci grabs his wrist in her gloved hand and begins marching them across the quad toward her apartment. They don’t have all night. 

Later, but not nearly later enough, Marci hands him a glass of water. She lifts her sweaty hair off her neck and twists it into a bun on the top of her head. Her mind is beginning to drift to the assignment which she needs to draft tonight to stay on schedule.

“That was…” Foggy drinks deeply from his glass. “Amazing. I, wow.”

“You’re welcome.” says Marci. She hands him his boxers which are on her study chair. 

“But, uh...was it. For you. Be honest. I want to make sure.”

“It was great, Asshole.”

“See, when you call me that I have concerns that you are not being entirely honest.”

“It’s an endearment,” says Marci. Obviously. 

“Asshole?”

“Well what do you want me to call you?” 

“I don’t know. Just, something nice. Maybe. If we are gonna do this. We are gonna do this right?” He seems so unsure. 

Marci’s heart clenches in a way she doesn’t experience often. Doubt. Maybe Foggy is going to change his mind. He had fun, but maybe that’s all this is, a good time. Marci could appreciate that, maybe she could even pretend that was what she wanted as well. But Marci Stahl knows she doesn’t put in this much effort, doesn’t care this much, for just anyone. Her phone is filled with the numbers of beautiful idiots who would happily come by on a cold night. And yet she had spent the entire week figuring out how to finally get Foggy Nelson into her bed, a man she isn’t even sure likes her.

Foggy’s pulling on his shirt and he slides down to pull his pants back up over his hips. His head is nestled in her pillows and his hair is wild. He looks so cuddly like this. She just wants to throw her arms around him and watch the snow fall outside her window. 

“Okay Foggy Bear.”

Foggy groans and flips over so his face is buried in the pillows. 

“I take it back! I take it back.”

“Nope. You’re stuck with it. And trust me, you are going to love it.”


	2. 9 Months before the Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Franklin "Foggy" Nelson and Marci Stahl are finally getting married! Or they will be, if they can safely navigate the logistics of planning a massive wedding, family and career expectations, and most dangerously, the messiness of their extended friend group. Foggy and Marci's wedding forces various characters to take stock of their lives, their relationships, and what they want from the future. Of course, there are no fancy galas in superhero stories without also inviting real peril as well.
> 
> Taking place after the end of the Marvel shows' run on Netflix, this fic employs a multi-character POV structure.
> 
> Chapter 2: Foggy and Marci put their cards on the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2: More Foggy/Marci Fluff

Foggy presses the snowball into Marci’s hand and has to bite his lips to keep from chuckling when the wrinkle of confusion and annoyance appears between her brows. She opens her eyes and stares and at the white orb held in her soft leather gloves and then looks up at his face frowning.

“These are Italian.” Marci reminds him, her voice is not completely dismissive, but it is also definitely not impressed. 

They are back on campus at Columbia after having dinner uptown for the first time in ages. The first snowstorm of the year blew through this morning and Foggy had been waiting. He’s wearing one of his nice suits from the heady years of big firm money and there is just enough wax in his hair to look sharp. 

“Do you want me to throw it at you?” Marci asks. Foggy quickly moves to hold her hands down. Shit. 

“That wouldn’t be a great idea…” He hadn’t quite thought this through after all. He steps close and takes his own gloves off and puts his hands around the snowball so they’re holding it together. Gently he starts rubbing at the snow to help it melt faster. Catching on, Marci takes her gloves off too and in seconds is not so gently tearing into it. 

“Ouch!” She brings her finger up to her mouth and Foggy curses under his breath 

“Are you alright?” Marci ignores him and swats his hands away, back to the quickly dissolving slush in her fingers.

“I got it! I got it!” Triumphantly Marci pulls the diamond out and holds it up to catch the glow off one of the nearby lampposts. It glitters even in the dark.

“Foggy Bear! That is... I didn’t expect it to be so…”

“Do you like it?” He asks, a little desperate. “The diamond is a family heirloom. I had it set about a year ago and was just waiting for the right time....”

“This is a Nelson family treasure?” Her tone is a little skeptical. Foggy does not blame her. She has met a lot of his family. 

“We don’t ask too many questions about those prohibition years.”

Marci sighs and slips it on her finger. It must still be cold because she immediately blows on her hand. But she doesn’t take it off.

“Is that a yes?” Foggy grins. He can not wait to kiss her. 

“To what?” Her eyebrow is arched but otherwise her face is studied composure.

“To... marrying me?”

“Are you asking, Counselor?”

Shit. The speech. Foggy lowers himself on his knee. He only kind of thinks about his designer pant leg, another factor that had slipped his attention when planning a wintery outdoor proposal. 

“Marcia Stahl, I don’t know where I would be if you hadn’t knocked some sense into me back in college. You are the cleverest, funniest, most loyal friend I have ever had in my life. When we are together I feel like I’m home. Will you marry me?”

Marci smiles and Foggy knows he hasn’t blown it this time. Matt had suggested they go on vacation somewhere. Karen had said to do it at home over dinner. But both of those had felt either too wildly over the top or too mundane. Claire had given him the idea over drinks a few months back by asking how they met. Foggy had been a little afraid Marci wouldn’t remember their fight on the quad. She wasn’t a sentimental person. She didn’t really do keepsakes or other things that added “clutter.” But the snowball had worked in the end.

“Of course I will Foggy Bear.”

Foggy kisses her. It feels wonderful to know that for once things are simple. Work is hard but in a routine way. Matt is Matt, but no one has talked about ninjas in a year. And right now Foggy has pulled off perhaps the greatest most defining moment of his life.

Snow slides down his collar sending a chill down his back.

“What the hell Marci!”

Marci laughs and loops her arm through his. Her left hand slides into the pocket of his overcoat and his right drops down to hold it. 

“That is for forgetting to ask the question. I’ve been waiting for the speech. The ring is a nice extra.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Marci grins up at him. “Honestly I expected to buy my own ring. But you knocked it out of the park. Very classy. Just the setting I would have picked.”

Foggy smiles. He’d only taken each of her friends out ring shopping and sworn them to secrecy, had extensive conversations with her mother, and had asked Karen to weigh in for good measure. But it’s Marci, so there had been no guarantees. 

“If you need to change it…”

“I don’t want to change a thing.”

This might be the proudest he’s ever felt in his whole life. If they ever have kids, this will be the moment they have to compete against .

“So I was thinking, if you could take off next Friday, we could go down to the courthouse.”

Marci stops and jerks him around to face her.

“Courthouse!”

Foggy should have waited until tomorrow. He had been riding so high on the win. 

“Think about it Marc, it will be romantic! We’re both lawyers. We’re both New Yorkers. And we can still spend a ton of money on a classy fashion engagement/wedding photoshoot and put something in The Bulletin. But that way the ceremony can be small. Just us and two witnesses.”

“Absolutely not! I am not getting married at work!”

“Okay, then we elope. We go to Bora Bora. Or how about a Greek island? We stand on the beach without any shoes on and just enjoy being together, just the two of us.”

“I am wearing shoes at my wedding!”

“Okay we wear shoes.”

“What about my parents? My grandparents? My siblings. Your parents, your brother?”

“What about we don’t let our families start yelling about whether we are having a nice Catholic wedding or a nice Jewish wedding. Because we are both lapsed and a judge would be way more our style.”

“Franklin Nelson, future District Attorney, and likely Attorney General for the State of New York. Hell, possible future President Franklin Nelson…”

Foggy sighs, but Marci holds up a finger in his face.

“And I, Marcia Stahl, of the New York Stahls, future General Counsel for a Multinational Fortune 100 company, are not the type of people who get courthouse married. We do not elope to Bora Bora. We are the type of people who have a basic bitch wedding because these types of events are not about you and me. They are about what we want to be in our community. So I’m sorry to ruin the romance, especially when you did such a good job on the proposal, but we are having a wedding. AND the photoshoot.”

Foggy sighs. He takes her hand out of his pocket and kisses it. He doesn’t know if he’s going to be Attorney General, but he does love that Marci thinks he could. And he is damn sure she will be the GC of Google in ten years. He knows her crazy rich family and all her colleagues and sorority sisters and probably everyone from The Wing are going to be there. Unfortunately, while all of that is A LOT, it is not really the problem. 

“Marci, you know once this wedding gets going, there are going to be some people from my side of things who are going to come. Even if we don’t invite them. I just...I have people.”

Marci smiles and this time kisses his hand. 

“Foggy, if half the police force and half the ex cons in the city show up to wish us well, I’ll know for sure that you’ll be on the ballot by the following November.”

Foggy groans. 

“And in any case, Matt will be there if there’s a problem. He can do his little, she lifts her right hand and makes a chopping motion, “hi-yah thing.”

Foggy stops and feels his whole body go numb. They have walked off campus and are only a block away from the subway line. The wind has picked up and they should be going down onto the platform where it’s warmer. Instead, he pulls Marci over in front of a dark shop that is gated and locked for the night. 

“What did you say about Matt?” 

Marci scoffs and puts her hands on her hips. She’s in a tall pair of heels but she still has to look up at Foggy. Somehow it feels the other way around.

“We’re getting married right? It’s ‘cards on the table’ time. You know that Matt isn’t just a blind attorney. And now you know I know as well.”

Foggy splutters. He feels drunk and unsteady. He doesn’t go to trial very often, but this is the feeling of one of his witnesses going completely nuts. This is the feeling of Frank Castle destroying their case. This is the feeling of pulling off the scarf of some criminal and seeing his best friend. Or Karen telling him she murdered a man. This is...He takes a breath. It’s not as bad as any of those things. 

Marci knows! No more lying. Or staring mutely at walls unable to articulate why he’s worried out of his mind. Or why he’s telling her tonight would be an excellent night to go visit her cousins at the lake house. Relief flows through his entire body.

“First, we will talk about this at home. At length. But when did you, how did you…”

In the dim light he can see Marci smile. It is the smug satisfied smile that used to make him lose his mind in college. He would complain to Matt about that smile for literally hours, oblivious to his own feelings. He would try to find the most unflattering metaphors to convey to Matt how deeply annoying that smile had been, if Matt could only just see it!

“A while now, not long after you were in the hospital. Well that’s when I figured out that Matt was the vigilante nut job in Hell’s Kitchen. But I knew in college he was way more...aware of what was going on than he liked to let on. Matt always liked to play pathetic. I used to watch him at frat parties. He never bumped into anyone unless he meant it. Somehow he was always spilling drinks on just the aggressive assholes who needed to leave. And he had a knack for tripping people on the stairs, which usually let me know one of my friends needed to go home. Then later, when we got together, I saw Matt without his shirt on more times than I needed. He had...marks. Bruises and cuts that didn’t match the gym rat type. And I had seen enough shirtless men by then to know the difference.”

“You were checking out Matt in college?” Foggy wishes he hadn’t said it and immediately feels pathetic. He doesn’t blame her. He had checked Matt out in college after all. It is just that he had always thought maybe Marci is the one person on earth who does not think Matt Murdock is more attractive than him.

Marci huffs and punches him lightly on the arm.

“I was trying to figure out if you two were dating.”

Foggy laughs, relieved and amused. He takes her hand again and returns it to his pocket as they finally walk toward the downtown line back toward Hell's Kitchen. Then he thinks screw it, and raises his arm to hail down a cab.

“You weren’t, right?” asks Marci. 

“Matt and I have a very special bond. But it would take an absolute saint to date that man.” The yellow cab pulls over and Foggy grabs the door. 

“That’s not an answer,” Marci grumbles as she slides into the back seat. 

“It was college Marci. A time for experimentation and mistakes. A time for drunken make outs with your friends, and soul shattering sex with your enemies.” Foggy slams the door shut and throws an arm around her. “A time of booze, a time for pot, a time for good decisions, a time for--”

“If you don’t shut up right now I’m leaving you.”

“Honestly, if it gets me out of this wedding.”

“Nothing is getting you out of this wedding.”


	3. 8 Months before the Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Franklin "Foggy" Nelson and Marci Stahl are finally getting married! Or they will be, if they can safely navigate the logistics of planning a massive wedding, family and career expectations, and most dangerously, the messiness of their extended friend group. Foggy and Marci's wedding forces various characters to take stock of their lives, their relationships, and what they want from the future. Of course, there are no fancy galas in superhero stories without also inviting real peril as well.
> 
> Taking place after the end of the Marvel shows' run on Netflix, this fic employs a multi-character POV structure.
> 
> Chapter 3: Claire Temple and Foggy Nelson are buddies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3: Friendship goals!

Claire snaps off her gloves and sticks her hands into the scalding water of the sink. After twenty seconds she allows herself to wipe the sweat off her forehead and then washes her hands again. To say she is tired would not begin to cover it. She aches all over, and her feet are screaming now that she has finally pushed through the flood of patients that had shown up at 6 p.m. in the Rand Family Urgent Care in Red Hook, Brooklyn. Dinner hour seems like such a wholesome family time for five GSWs and some third degree burns from a grill. All of the people at the family BBQ gone wrong should have been in an ER, not a small urgent care clinic where the small staff of nurses are supplemented by a handful of volunteer doctors whose specialties range from plastic surgery to orthopedics. Claire had been forced to transfer two of the victims (perpetrators?) after helping get them stabilized. Both of mens’ chances of surviving the night would have been much better if someone had just called 911 instead of pulling up in front of her clinic in a white van. But people are willing to risk a hell of a lot for free healthcare. And the clinic has gotten a reputation as a safe haven for people who don’t want the police asking questions. 

Of course, like with anything that sounds too good to be true, there is definitely a catch. Claire walks to her locker and pulls out her phone. The nurses’ lounge is empty at the moment, but even if it wasn’t, their small staff knows the drill. 

“Alias Investigations,” says the voice on the other end of the line. 

“It’s Claire Temple with the RFUC.”

“Claire, hello,” coos the voice, suddenly friendly. “Jessica’s out right now but I can pass along the info when she’s back.”

Claire arches her back, feeling the muscles strain. She wonders if she should book a massage. Or maybe stop for a pedicure on the way home. The idea of soaking her feet in swirling scented water as someone attempts to rub the knotts from her calves is seductive. 

“Yeah, let Jessica know I just patched up a bunch of men involved in a firefight not far from Sunset Park. I’m pretty sure they are the same ones from the attempted kidnapping.” Claire gives a detailed description of the victims, the van, including the plates, and all the names she had overheard being discussed as she had staunched wounds, applied sutures, and wrapped burns. She carefully does not disclose their medical condition or their treatment, skirting HIPAA as much as she feels comfortable. It should be enough for Jessica to figure out what to do next.

“You’re an angel Claire Temple,” Gillian says. Claire is really not so sure of that. 

She leans her back against the metal lockers which she thinks Danny, or really whoever Danny hired to set up this venture, sourced from an old high school. The metal feels cool. How, Claire wonders not for the first time, did Jessica Jones wind up being the powered up person in New York Claire has the fewest concerns about. Well, she does not have the fewest generally speaking. Jessica is going to need a liver transplant sometime in the next decade. But Jessica’s sense of her own role and how far she is willing to go in the ongoing battle with crime in the city seems so much more stable than any of the other vigilantes Claire knows. Maybe it is the quasi legitimacy afforded to her by her PI license, but Claire suspects it is because Jessica distrusts herself the most. 

Claire thinks about Luke and feels the knot in her stomach. She waits for the wave of self recrimination and regret that had used to accompany that feeling but finds only distant echoes of that turmoil. She is worried for Luke and for Harlem. She is disappointed as well. Maybe things would have been different if she hadn’t gone to Havana. Maybe if she had stayed and talked to him he would have gone back to being the sweet corney man who made her feel safe. But, as many friends have told her, she isn’t Luke, and she isn’t responsible for his decisions. Always. Such an easy word to say and such an easy promise to break. It had been a promise she broke as quickly as he did. 

Claire still has charts to update so she leaves the lounge and walks over to the desk and the clinic’s computers. A man in a brown overcoat with a boyish mop of blonde hair is chatting to Linda who is on reception duty today. For a split second her anxiety spikes, but then she sees the donuts on the desk. Not an emergency, just Foggy being Foggy.

“Hey stranger,” says Claire. It’s been around a month since Foggy came by with bribes and business cards. The man certainly knows how to work a room. Anybody else she’d throw out for ambulance chasing, but Foggy Nelson is good people and she’s lost track of the number of patients he and the reinstated Nelson, Murdock, and Page have helped in the last year. 

“Hottie McBurner Phone! How the hell are you!” Claire rolls her eyes at the nickname, but it’s more for show than anything else. There is something irresistible about Foggy. He has the kind of face to which seasoned criminals want to tell their life story. “I come bearing bougie donuts and a gallon of delicately roasted coffee.”

Claire can smell the coffee when she inhales and the scent makes her toes curl. She sighs.

“None for me Nelson, I just finished 12 hours and I am going to sleep.”

“Come on Claire, the night is young! I’ve come to take you for fancy cocktails in Carroll Gardens where the fries come in truffle oil and the steak frites swims in butter.”

Claire’s mouth waters. Her place isn’t far from there and Claire can’t remember lunch. Did she eat? What did she eat?

“You’ve twisted my arm. But only if we get a taxi. I am done walking.”

Foggy smiles and pulls his phone out to call dispatch. Claire smiles at the only lawyer in New York who refuses to use a rideshare app and seems to be personal friends with half the cabbies in the city. Marci’s right. As much as Foggy loves his firm, he is destined for public service. There is no getting around it. 

Later, they are sitting at the bar and Claire has inhaled her steak. Foggy has just ordered a ridiculous cocktail that smells like an herb garden. It always amuses Claire to watch Foggy indulge a little. Foggy Nelson of Hell’s Kitchen is a man who enjoys shotgunning Natty Lights and downing Jameson. He is a man who gets his hair cut at the same barber shop his grandfather got his hair cut at and probably his grandfather as well. But Franklin Nelson, Columbia University and Columbia Law graduate, formerly of Hogarth, Chao and Benowitz, and Nelson, sometimes wants a cocktail with twigs sticking out of it. Normally he likes to keep that part of himself a secret. Claire likes that she gets to be the kind of friend with whom he can gratify his fancy side. 

“So I actually have some news,” says Foggy, awakening Claire from her food coma. She presses her lips together nervously. “Marci and I are getting married in September.” Claire grins and lifts her champagne flute up to toast him. 

“Congratulations! I’m so happy for you and Marci.”

“Thank you, thank you. And also thank you for genuinely meaning that. I’m not sure Karen and Matt agree but they’re being nice about it.”

Claire tilts her head to the side. Foggy doesn’t usually bring up Matt when they talk. Not since last year following the Wilson Fisk crisis. Foggy had suggested she leave town almost as soon as Fisk had been moved out of prison, not that Claire had complied. Instead, she had stayed with Colleen and Danny for two miserable weeks. (Miserable from the news articles describing the appearance of a murderous new Daredevil and miserable because Danny Rand was a lot in close quarters.) 

After Fisk had gone back to jail, Foggy had showed up with donuts and a bruise a couple days old on his cheek. The news had leaked that FBI agent Benjamin Pointdexter had been impersonating Matt but there had been no word of his arrest. Foggy had taken her hand and had reassured her that the fake Daredevil would not be attacking anyone else ever again. There had been no denying the implication in Foggy’s look or the certainty with which he had told her the problem had been handled. 

“You should call him,” Foggy had said at last. “Matt moved back into the old place. He has a new number I can give you.”

But Claire hadn’t called. She’d waited until she was back home to break down in tears of anger and relief and then she had put his number in the back of a drawer, out of sight and out of mind. Now that he is alive, she had told herself, Claire Temple can be the kind of person who does not care what Matt Murdock is doing.

That was the last time Foggy had discussed Matt. Claire could bring him up, and often feels the questions trying to climb their way out of her, but she always pivots away. She’s not ready to satisfy the self-destructive part of herself that continues to worry. As for why Foggy avoids the topic, Marci had hinted once that their monthly drinks and fries are not exactly public knowledge. Of course, Matt might still be aware that she and Foggy are friends. He is creepy that way after all.

“I told Matt and Karen about the proposal the next day and both of them seemed... aggressively fine,” says Foggy while jabbing at the curled lemon rind in his drink with his tiny straw made of actual hay.

Claire thinks for a moment, choosing her words carefully. 

“Karen and Matt are just very protective of you. The three of you are pretty much family and Marci is...sharp. In a great way,” Claire hastens to add, “Marci always lets people know where they stand with her. She’s the most honest person I’ve ever met in my life. That probably scares Karen and Matt to death.”

Claire feels bad for the dig at the end. She really had tried not to say anything cutting. Foggy, however, chuckles appreciatively. 

“A bit unfair to Karen but a brutal takedown of Matty.”

Claire lets herself smile and sips her prosecco. The bubbles sting her tongue in a satisfying way. She wishes she and Foggy could just sit here and shit talk Matt for hours. But Claire is afraid to give in even that much.

“I guess I was just playing off Karen’s general air of mystery.” 

“It’s closer to guarded,” says Foggy thoughtfully. “She just gets away with mysterious because she’s so pretty. Kind of like how you get away with being bossy.” 

“Bossy is a gendered slur Franklin.”

“Agreed, but do you also hear how you just sounded like my third grade teacher?” 

“It’s your hair,” Claire retorts. “I just want to tossle it and give you a lollipop for not crying when you got your shot.”

Foggy laughs and lifts his hands in surrender. 

“Anyway, I wanted to give you your save-the-date in person.” Foggy slides over a card with a lovely picture of Foggy and Marci in Central Park. There is the tiniest bit of snow on the ground. Claire is impressed they got it done before the flakes melted. She picks up the card and examines the date. September 30th, some town in New York she’s never heard of.

“Marci’s folks have an estate with a vineyard up near the Finger Lakes. They’ve even turned one of the old mansions on the property into an inn with a really nice bar. Most of Marci’s family are planning on staying at their lake houses nearby and the Nelsons have also decided to rent a couple of places and hold a big old family reunion while they are at it. So Marci suggested some of our friends who we particularly want to come could all stay at The Vineyard Inn, totally comped.” He’s smiling at her hopefully. Claire is a little shocked that she’s made it onto a particular friends list and wonders how the hell that happened. Foggy is friendly with half the city. 

“So it’s gonna be me, Josie, Karen and I assume some bridesmaids, and Matt?” asks Claire. Why did she say Matt’s name last? It draws attention. 

“Pretty much, pretty much. A couple friends from the NYPD. A couple guys from high school. A few neighborhood grannies. Also Danny and Colleen, and ah Luke. Maybe. If he comes.” Claire is beginning to suspect why Foggy had been so keen that they order a second round of cocktails and had thrown in a crab dip appetizer for good measure. 

“Hmmm.”

“I know. I know. You are surprised about Danny Rand. But Marci said that if I know a billionaire who might someday need a new general counsel then I am obligated to invite him. And you like Colleen right? She’s a sweet kid from what I remember of her.”

Claire pushes at the stem of her glass so that it slides back toward the bar. 

“And Luke?”

Foggy picks at what is left of the fries, looking for one that has not gotten soggy. He is avoiding her eyes.

“A bit of the same. I mean, technically I’m still Luke’s attorney. But the truth is he’s a power player in Harlem and if, someday, I think I want to be DA, I’m not going to be able to accomplish much without people like Luke supporting me.”

The part of Claire that can look at a man convulsing and dispassionately determine what she needs to do to stabilize him knows Foggy is right. By Foggy’s logic, it also follows that Luke will not turn down the opportunity to socialize with the other powerful people in New York who will be at the wedding. But the other part of Claire is annoyed that Luke’s choices are being validated this way.

“You know Luke and I aren’t speaking right?”

Foggy sighs and Claire feels terrible. Only Foggy Nelson can make her feel guilty for not wanting to spend time with an ex boyfriend. She thinks of another fight. Make that an ex and a half. But it’s Foggy’s wedding and he wants Claire to be there. 

“I’ll think about it, okay?” Claire finally says, which is really a no. 

“I know that’s a no,” says Foggy. “And I would just like to reiterate that you are one of, if not the only, person that both Marci and I are really excited to see. Marci’s friends drive me up the wall in large doses and we’ve already discussed the Matt and Karen of it all.” He waves the bartender over and orders them both a third round. “And Marci particularly told me, to tell you, that if you remain unconvinced, she promises to take you to the spa next weekend. And that is a bribe.”

Claire groans. 

“Order more of the truffle fries and I promise to really think about it.”

Later, as she bolts the door of her Gowanus studio apartment and allows herself to fall face first onto her mattress, Claire thinks again about the wedding. She can picture Matt dressed up in the suit he had worn the morning she had woken up in his apartment. The image triggers the memory of kissing him, slowly and carefully. She envisions Luke at the wedding too, his broad shoulders barely contained by the tailored lines of his jacket, looking like the king of Harlem he is now. 

Her phone beeps and there is a message from Marci with a calendar invite for an all day session at some salon with a Japanese name. 

What the fuck is Claire Temple going to do?


	4. 6 Months before the Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Franklin "Foggy" Nelson and Marci Stahl are finally getting married! Or they will be, if they can safely navigate the logistics of planning a massive wedding, family and career expectations, and most dangerously, the messiness of their extended friend group. Foggy and Marci's wedding forces various characters to take stock of their lives, their relationships, and what they want from the future. Of course, there are no fancy galas in superhero stories without also inviting real peril as well.
> 
> Taking place after the end of the Marvel shows' run on Netflix, this fic employs a multi-character POV structure.
> 
> Chapter 4: Karen and Frank have a drink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4: Karen and Frank and their unresolved sexual tension

Karen’s gun is out and the safety is off the moment she opens the door to her apartment. It has been ages since she’s been this jumpy. But she is sure she heard something, the hint of a heavy breath and the squeak of old floorboards as someone shifts their weight. As the door swings into the wall the lights in the kitchen go on illuminating sharp cheekbones, shadowed deep-set eyes, and a nose that has been broken more than once. 

“Frank?” Karen breathes. 

“Hello Karen,” says the gravelly voice. It is slight, but Karen thinks The Punisher sounds slightly sheepish. 

Sighing loudly, Karen closes her door and bolts all five locks. It is both excessive and comforting. If anyone should have too many locks it is Karen Page. In fact, given everything Karen has been through, the simplicity of her deadbolts seems naive. But it is for reasons just like this that Karen can not afford any video surveillance systems. 

“Where have you been, Frank?” she asks as she sets the safety on her gun and moves it into the drawer by her bed. 

“Away,” says Frank. Helpful. 

“Is she okay?” asks Karen. She stands near her bed, maintaining the space between herself and the kitchen where Frank sits on one of her bar stools. He has found her bottle of scotch and has poured himself a glass. She sees that he has poured one for her as well. 

“Amy? Yeah, she’s good. It...ended good.”

“That’s good Frank.” She pauses and crosses her arms. She feels her hair slip from behind her ear and pushes it back in annoyance. “I heard about the Russians.”

“Yeah?” Frank is so forthcoming.

“Kind of hard not to. Five minute firefight and fifteen dead bodies. Efficient.”

Frank is quiet. He looks at the tumbler of scotch he had poured for her. His fingers nudge it slightly. She can see the tattoos on his knuckles in the yellow light. 

“Maybe I should…”

God dammit, thinks Karen. She storms across the room to join him in the kitchen, kicking off her shoes as she goes. Picking up the glass she drinks deeply, wincing at the first hit of liquor. 

“I heard about the girls too. The cop I talked to said they might have suffocated in the barge if NYPD had gotten there much later.” Karen sits down on the barstool across from Frank and wraps her stockinged feet through the wooden rungs as if to hold herself in place. There is the faintest hint of a smile in the corner of Frank’s mouth that makes Karen purse her own lips. 

“How’d you find out?” she asks instead of doing what she’s thinking about doing.

“Just paid attention.” Frank scrubs his hand over the back of his head which draws attention to the muscles in his neck. Karen wonders when was the last time she really considered a man’s neck sexy. His hair is a bit longer than she is used to seeing it. Not long, but he has not buzzed it in a few weeks. Karen reminds herself she is angry. 

“Okay.”

There is a long pause. Karen pours herself more scotch and then tops Frank up as well. She does not want him to leave after all. He has not even said why he is here. She wonders what sort of trouble Frank is in now. Does he need legal advisor Karen Page, investigative journalist Karen Page, street vigilante intermediary Karen Page? She is not going to ask. They can just sit here and slowly get drunk. 

“Decided I should stick around this time,” Frank grunts. His fingers are playing over the glass and he’s rocking very slightly. Karen’s stillness seems to be working. 

“Hmmm.” Karen tries to catch his eye and then is unprepared for the force of his gaze. Looking Frank Castle in the eye is like nothing she has ever experienced before. There is a wounded earnestness that threatens to shatter him. It certainly might break her. 

“You didn’t tell me about Fisk,” says Frank. His hands slide forward millimeters from her own. 

“Didn’t have time,” Karen responds. Her hair has fallen into her face again. She should just tie it up, but Karen is a bit self conscious about how severe she looks with her hair pulled back. 

“I guess I owe Red for that.”

Karen sighs. She doesn’t know what she should say. Yell at him for assuming someone has to be responsible for her safety? Clarify her relationship with Matt? Fill him in on what happened? Frank knows she takes care of herself, he probably knows what happened, and Matt...feels presumptuous. 

“I guess you were out of town?”

Frank nods and takes a sip of his drink. His fingers drum on the wooden counter. 

“I gave it a try, you know, the American dream.” The sarcasm of that last phrase is lacerating. “Didn’t take long before people started getting hurt.”

Karen’s hand reflexively grabs his. She expects him to pull away, but instead his fingers thread through hers and he turns their clasped hands over, looking at them appraisingly. His calloused thumb runs over the wrist, just over her pulse. Karen takes a deep shaky breath. 

“I think some of us are shaped by the bad stuff in life,” says Karen carefully. “Matt thinks he’s either cursed or called by god. I don’t believe in any of that. For you and I...I think that after what we’ve seen, we can spot the things that are wrong faster than other people. And we don’t know how to leave it alone.”

For a moment they sit in silence. Frank keeps holding her hand. 

“What do you need Frank?” asks Karen, breaking her rule. She moves to place her other hand around his wrist, to hold him there.

To her surprise, Frank barks out what Karen is pretty sure is a laugh. 

“I saw the Counselor is getting hitched!” Frank pulls out a folded copy of The Bulletin from his pocket. The engagement story has her byline. She is not a reporter anymore, but she had leveraged her connections as a gift. The picture is nice, although Karen had liked some of the candid shots Foggy had shown them more than the standard bridge shot on which Marci had insisted. But, Karen has to admit, even awkwardly staged Foggy looks happy. And that matters more than any reservations she still has about platinum corporate shills. 

“The wedding is this fall at some vineyard way upstate. I suspect the concept is pumpkin spice latte meets ornamental gourd season.”

Frank looks confused. 

“Seems delicious.” he says. 

Karen chuckles. 

“Did you come by so I’d pass on your best wishes to your fearless attorney. The one who could have saved your life if you’d let him.” She wishes she had not said that last part. But Frank does not seem to mind.

“Franklin is good people.” 

Karen always finds it weird when people call Foggy that. It also makes her a little sad, like he is that much closer to leaving the firm and actually running for DA. 

“I got him a gift,” says Frank. Karen’s jaw drops and she immediately tries to play it off by propping her chin up with her hand. “Here, it’s supposed to be good luck, keep the evil out.”

“Yeah, yeah…” murmurs Karen as he hands her the heavy iron horseshoe. It’s wrapped, sort of, in a piece of newspaper, The Bulletin again, and her byline. “It’s an old Irish myth right?”

Frank grunts. 

“He’ll love it,” Karen says sincerely. “You should give it to him yourself.”

“When? At the wedding?” asks Frank archly. “Think the Counselor will be happy to see an old pain in the ass?” His eyebrow is raised in amusement.

“Sure,” Karen agrees, smiling at the idea of The Punisher mingling with the New York Stahls. “You can be my date.”

Frank chin comes down sharply and he’s staring into Karen’s eyes. His hand that is still holding hers tightens. She can hear ringing in her ears like a bomb has gone off. It has gone off. She is the bomb. It was a joke. It was a joke! Why is Frank staring at her so seriously? 

“Karen,” Frank says very slowly. “Do you not have a date for the Counselor’s wedding?”

Karen bites down on the side of the thumb of her free hand. It hurts so she is not dreaming. She is living this. 

“No.” She’s debating what to say next. She doesn’t want a date really. Or, she has plenty of time and maybe by the wedding…

“What the fuck is Mudrock doing? Should I kill him for you?” Frank is so angry Karen surprises the both of them by bursting out laughing. He waits for her to catch her breath. 

“Sorry. Sorry. Ahem. Ohhh.” She scratches her forehead, collecting herself. “Please don’t kill Matt. That would be a real issue for me, professionally. I, ah, appreciate the offer, but I don’t want Matt...that way.”

“You love him,” Frank insists. And he is so god damned sure. In the glow of the kitchen she remembers the first time they had this chat. Maybe Karen should make some coffee. Instead she slowly pours them both more scotch.

“You know, last year, when the Fisk stuff was happening, I figured some things out. Did I ever tell you I had a brother?” It’s funny how quickly you can go from laughing to crying, Karen thinks. She pushes through though. It’s about time she told someone. 

Frank shakes his head and waits silently for her to continue. His eyes are piercing though. 

“He was older. Always thought he knew what was best for me. He liked to take care of people. I idolized him when I was little, but when I got older I would get so mad at him for just...dictating how things should be. I was angry anyway. My mom had died and I felt awful all the time... I started dealing with a boy I was seeing, mostly cocaine….” Karen realizes she’s rambling. She’s making excuses, avoiding the next part. Frank squeezes her hand.

“One day my brother decided enough was enough, and he was gonna save me. There was an awful fight and the loser I was dating beat him pretty bad. I tried to get him help, but I was so high and fucked up…I couldn’t see straight...He died in the crash.” She can feel the tears on her cheeks. 

Frank leans forward and pulls her close. Karen burrows her face into his chest. Soft and gentle, he presses his lips to the crown of her head. Taking a deep breath fills Karen with the smell of sweat, gunpowder, and something sharp that must be his aftershave. After a moment Karen leans back.

“When I met Matt, he reminded me a bit of Kevin...my brother. Well meaning, reckless, extremely overprotective. I liked that he thought I was...innocent. But I’m not. I killed my brother. And I killed James Wesley.” Frank frowns. She doesn’t know what she expects him to say.

“Who the fuck is James Wesley!” 

A laugh rips out of Karen again, but this one is dryer and sharper. Of course Frank wasn’t around for that. Frank looks exasperated. 

“He worked for Fisk, before he went to prison.”

“And did you shoot him?” he asks, holding her gaze. 

“Emptied my clip.”

“Attagirl.” He’s smiling at her and there is that sweet crinkle in his eyes. 

Karen’s own smile is a bit watery. She would kiss him but it would be damp. Instead she scrubs at her eyes with the cuffs of her blouse. 

“All this to say,” Karen says at last. “Please don’t kill Matt. He’s like a brother to me.”

Frank nods. He looks thoughtful. There is tension in his brow, well, more tension than usual. 

“Karen,” he says, very deliberately, “you have terrible taste in men.”

Karen laughs again and sips her scotch. Frank smiles back at her. She feels lighter somehow. Better than she has in years maybe. 

“Well Foggy was just saying that there are going to be a lot of ex cons at the wedding so my odds for the weekend are looking good!”

“I’ll go.”

Had she heard that right? Her heart is trying to escape her chest and she has forgotten how to swallow. But also, he is kidding right?

“Go?”

“To the wedding. As your date.”

Replaying the conversation in her head, Karen tries to figure out how The Punisher has just agreed to a weekend in the Finger Lakes to celebrate the nuptials of two lawyers. 

“You can’t kill anyone!” Karen commands, thinking of those poor criminals who Foggy has represented and who are insisting on celebrating “the best man they know.” 

Frank sighs.

“That is not what I meant,” he grumbles. Karen glares at him. “But okay.”

The smile cannot be contained by Karen’s face. Not sure what to do she leans in and kisses him on the cheek. If he gets to kiss her head she can kiss him back, at least this much.

“Okay okay,” says Karen, her thoughts running so fast she is speaking her thoughts aloud, “But...how are we going to...I mean you are a bit of a public figure? You are definitely coming! We just need to figure out the logistics.”

Frank nods thoughtfully as Karen looks over his familiar features. 

“If I don’t cut my hair it should be long enough to pull back by fall,” Frank offers. “Grows pretty fast.” Karen remembers his long hair and bites her bottom lip. 

“And the beard?”

“Shouldn’t be an issue.”

“Yes” Karen nods. “I think that would work.” It definitely works for her. 

Frank kisses her hand and stands up. She notices too late that his scotch is gone. Rather than the door, Frank walks over to the window that opens out to the fire escape. Of course he does. 

“See you in six months,” he says and lets go of her hand to open the window. The apartment is instantly chilly. It’s only after he has left that Karen panics that she never told him the date or the location. But when she looks at her refrigerator, the save-the-date has vanished.


	5. 5 Months before the Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy, Karen, and Matt tackle the guest list to Foggy and Marci's wedding. Foggy and Karen come clean about some things they probably should have shared earlier. Matt confronts some painful truths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter about friendship. And also about the terror of managing a guest list.

Matt grits his teeth and applies the heat therapy patch to his lower back. Getting knocked down the iron fire escape last night had been brutal. Not for the first time he thinks nostalgically about the kevlar suit. It probably would not have prevented the bruising or the stiffness. But, he thinks, with a helmet he could have managed the descent better. Also knives and bullets would be less trouble.

In the living room of Matt’s apartment, Foggy and Karen are going through invitations and reviewing the guest list. There is one stack of outgoing invitations that are part of what Foggy has been dramatically calling, “the fifth wave,” and another with RSVPs, plus ones (both invited and uninvited), and food preferences. Foggy has even brought over a white board from his office and is marking up a potential seating chart. It’s five months out but apparently the guest list keeps changing dramatically. Matt is pretty sure people are not allowed to invite themselves to weddings but somehow this keeps happening and Foggy is incapable of alienating anyone. 

“Just give me your computer,” he hears Karen sigh. Her manicured nails scrape against the keys and the mouse pad and she’s humming slightly as she looks through whatever is on the screen. 

“Foggy, you forgot you told your mother she could invite the Ramirez family. Oh, and you also said okay to second cousins which includes the Long Island Murphys.”

Foggy groans. This wedding must be at least 300 people, Matt thinks. Up until this point, Matt had endeavoured not to let Foggy pull him into what is clearly a nightmare. Matt might have made it if he had just managed to walk a little straighter in the office today. But the moment Matt had winced, Foggy had announced that the only way the guest list would get sorted was if they all pitched in at Matt’s Marci-free apartment. Nevermind that Matt can’t read the responses on the written invitations (though he doesn’t let on that he can guess who a lot of them are from) and going through Foggy’s poorly organized email is far more time consuming that anyone really wants. They are all well aware this is just Foggy making Matt stay in for the night. 

“Goodbye big firm savings,” Foggy moans dramatically as Karen finds four more people who are owed invitations. Matt smirks as he grabs a clean shirt and pulls it over his head. The cotton is soft and warm. He grabs a hoodie and slides that on for good measure. It’s not chilly. In fact, the building still has the heat on full blast, but Matt doesn’t want his friends to worry about the scratches on his arms. 

Walking back into the living room, the smell of the take out Chinese food is even more intense. The dumplings are still warm and Matt is pleased that the dipping sauce is on the spicier side. He’s already anticipating the rush from the sensory overload. Foggy on the other hand has a bottle of sriracha out even though that’s not remotely the right hot sauce.

Karen is picking at some sort of garlic tofu dish. She fidgets with the chopsticks and bites on her lower lip. Matt wonders not for the first time what is worrying her. It has been a few weeks since Karen has walked around nursing a secret. Matt had thought he caught the scent of gunpowder on her skin, but Karen never said anything. He knows she carries a gun. It is possible Karen had just been to a shooting range and not that she had any real need to discharge it. And Karen would tell him if anything is wrong, wouldn’t she?

“Finally, the best man appears!” exclaims Foggy as Matt leans against the kitchen island.

“Co-co-best person,” corrects Karen. “Or did you want to spend your bachelor party staking out the docks? Or whatever Theo’s Atlantic City plan was.”

“I would have got to it,” Matt protests. He is nearly certain he would have figured out something. Karen grunts. For some reason the noise along with Karen’s dismissive full head roll reminds him a bit of Frank Castle. 

“No offense Matt,” says Foggy, as offensively as possible, “But I think we can all agree that Karen really stepped up for the team. All day brunch, The Hunk-o-Mania Revue Show, Karaoke, and then hustling some pool at Josie's. An incredible itinerary and, though it’s been a week, I may still be drunk.”

“She did great,” agrees Matt, even though he’d found it almost unbearable. That thought makes him feel a little guilty. The boozy loud brunch, followed by the spectacle of the club, and the off key singing at karaoke had done more damage to his ears than falling down the stairs last night. But he has to admit, when it had finally been just the three of them closing the bar down at Josie’s with the radio off and just the sounds of Hell's Kitchen filtering into the bar, he had almost understood Foggy’s contentment. 

“The Hunk-o-Mania was a stroke of genius,” Matt also concedes. It is funny how one gay strip show can make so many men who are “stoked to party” have last minute conflicts. In the end, only Brett and Theo had joined them. Brett and Theo’s long and rambling thoughts on the show afterward had actually gotten a laugh out of Matt. 

“I’ll say,” Foggy sighs. Matt chuckles.

“Did you tell Marci?” asks Matt. He is teasing but he’s also a little curious. Marci, and he knows this, has never liked him that much. Even in college she had been territorial about Foggy, although it had taken Foggy himself long enough to notice. How comfortable, Matt wonders, is Marci really with Foggy enjoying a striptease, even if it had been a Magic Mike style show?

“Marci and I have no secrets,” Foggy boasts. Then a stillness settles over his friend. Foggy stands, a little abruptly, his knees knocking into the coffee table, and walks over to the fridge. He cracks the Natty Light open and there is a sharp hiss of pressurized air. 

“About that, Matt, I need to talk to you.” 

Matt sighs and crosses his arms.

“We discussed this Foggy. You agreed it wouldn’t be safe.” 

Foggy is tapping on his beer. His heart rate is elevated and Matt can smell him sweating. 

“You already told her.” Matt’s jaw is clenched and every part of him is thrumming a little.

“No. No I didn’t. I promise.” He’s telling the truth, but not everything. Matt waits. On the couch, Karen has gone still. 

“She already figured it out.”

Gobsmacked. Nonplussed. Bewildered. Perturbed. None of these seem enough to cover his shock. Foggy had literally found him unconscious in his apartment. Karen he had told. Claire found him in a dumpster. Fisk, Matt has to admit, had been given plenty of reason to be suspicious, and Jessica Jones too for that matter. But Marci Stahl? When had Marci Stahl spent enough time anywhere near him to put it together. It’s one thing to suspect a mild mannered attorney hides a secret life, but a BLIND attorney?

“When?” 

“Just a couple a weeks ago,” says Foggy. 

“I’m not going to pretend I don’t know you’re lying.”

Foggy sighs and takes another beer out of the fridge. He throws it across the counter and Matt catches it.

“I’m still not used to that,” Foggy mutters as he makes his way back to the couch. Karen is quiet, but her stillness conveys her curiosity. At least Foggy had waited to tell them both at the same time.

“Apparently she got suspicious around the time I was shot in the DA’s office. We’d been talking a bit and she knew you’d been AWOL on The Punisher trial which didn’t seem like you. And I’d been...ah, her words, ‘sulking.’ Anyway, she got really curious when I actually quit the firm. She did a little digging into what went down in the courtroom and caught you on some reporters’ video looking kind of dinged up. She figured you’d gotten involved in something stupid again.” 

“Again?”

“Her words,” says Foggy. “I think she meant the Ele...college girlfriend stuff.” Matt feels the slight frisson that always happens when he thinks of Elektra. The memory of her perfume is real, just for a moment. Matt takes a sip of beer and rides it out. Foggy should be able to say her name. 

“Oh, also in college Marci figured out you could fight or something based on seeing you without a shirt on.” Matt nearly spits his drink on the floor. He hadn’t thought about the fact that Marci might have been paying attention to him in college. They’d had some classes together, probably done some social stuff. And she had slept over a couple times. Not often, she had her own place that was easier. But there had been a couple times when Foggy had been busy or had been planning on breaking up with her and Marci had just shown up at their dorm and not left.

“She could tell that?” Karen asks the obvious question. 

“Apparently she had a gym rat phase in high school and freshman year. There were, and again direct quote, ‘a lot of boxers.’”

“Damn,” says Karen. “I may have misjudged Marci.”

Foggy laughs, but it isn’t all amusement. Matt feels guilty. Foggy would be so much happier if he, Karen, and Marci actually had something to say to each other. 

“Anyway, she started paying attention any time she ran into you at court. And between the bruised knuckles, the two of us being weird, and what she knew about Daredevil and the Fisk case already, she was pretty sure she had figured it out. I guess she wasn’t totally certain however until you disappeared when the building collapsed.”

Matt runs his hand over his head. He can feel a scab under his hair, old, but not quite ready to come free. 

“This is...unexpected”

“She didn’t tell me until, well until I proposed. Matt, I really don’t think you need to worry. Marci’s smart, she’s discrete, and honestly, if she had you fooled for the past year or so she’s definitely not obvious.”

Matt knows Foggy’s right. Of course he is, but with every person who knows about him, both of him, the world feels a little more precarious. He’s trying to follow Maggie’s advice and be a bit more honest, more present with the people he cares about. But he had also been very happy with keeping that list to Foggy, Karen, and Maggie. His thoughts drift to the few other people who know, Jessica, Luke, Danny...Claire. Matt walks over to his chair and nurses the beer. Natty Light is pleasantly bland. It’s one of the few alcohols that doesn’t really give him a rush.

“Okay,” Matt says at last. What else can he say?

“Okay,” Foggy agrees. There’s a wave of serotonin. Foggy is relieved and happy. And for Matt, Foggy’s happiness is worth a lot. 

“Ahh, on the topic of confessing things,” says Karen. Matt swears.

“Did you kill someone again?” asks Foggy. “We’re still your lawyers and your friends and we love you. But Karen, please, break it to me gently.”

Matt thinks that’s rich given the bomb he just dropped. He tilts his head in Karen’s direction, braced for whatever it is she’s been worried about. He can hear the hiss of her skirt as she crosses her legs and the swipe of her fingers across her forehead as she loops her hair behind her ear. The rosewater perfume she wears mixes with her sweat as her heart rate increases.

“I have a date to the wedding.”

Matt’s breath explodes from his chest and Foggy pounds the seat of the leather couch with both fists.

“Jesus Karen,” Foggy groans, “next time you have totally normal news please read the room.” Foggy then jerks up and his head snaps in Matt’s direction. Matt knows his friend is trying to determine if Matt has just had his heart broken. Honestly, Matt is trying to figure that out himself.

“A date?” asks Matt. He is going for “platonic friend” curious and is agonizingly sure he is wide of the mark.

“Yes,” says Karen. There is clearly something else she is trying to say but everytime she starts to speak she twists her mouth. Her adrenaline is still running high. Too high, even for a friend who is worried she might be...disappointing another friend.

“Anyone we know?” asks Foggy with the very natural follow up question, something Matt seems incapable of.

“Mmhmm,” she hums. Again Karen crosses her legs, then uncrosses her legs, then stands up and paces.

“Karen,” says Foggy, his voice suddenly gentle. “We are your friends and we love you very much. Love, is love, is love, and all that. And you know I mean that. So whoever it is, if you want them there as your date, we want them there too.”

“Yeah.” Matt clears his throat. “If there is someone who makes you happy, then they should definitely be there with you.”

“It’s Frank.”

The room goes still. Matt can hear the couple fighting three apartments over. He can hear change fall out of a man’s pocket as he searches for his subway card on the next avenue. He cannot hear Karen taking a breath. 

“Nope!” yells Foggy. 

“You said I could have a plus one!” Karen protests. “I’m co-co-best person! I arranged a kickass bachelor party. I’m here on a Thursday night helping sort a 300 person guest list. Can’t I bring Frank?”

“Frank Castle?” Matt demands. “The Punisher? You want to bring The Punisher to Foggy’s wedding. As a date.”

Matt knows it is unreasonable to be this angry. Karen can do or be with whoever the fuck she wants. But a murderer? What the fuck is she thinking? He knows he should have seen it coming too. There had been clues, hadn’t there? Maybe if he had been as good a detective as apparently Marci Stahl is he would not feel like he has been KO’d fifteen seconds after stepping into the ring.

Under her breath, so that only Matt can hear, Karen whispers, “We will talk about this later.”

Matt crosses his arms and leans back. He will fucking wait then. 

On the couch, Karen scoots up next to Foggy in a way that is very manipulative and unfair. 

“Look, I know, I know what he does. But you both” (Matt knows she shoots him a dirty look) “should appreciate the reason he does what he does. And I know you don’t like his methods, but there are a lot of people alive today because of Frank. But that...that isn’t even really what I wanted to say.”

She sighs and Matt hears the pull and snap of tiny threads in her skirt as she kneads at it with her hands. 

“He got you a wedding gift Foggy. Whatever you might think of what he does, he has a huge amount of respect and admiration for what you do. I think, I know, that there is a place for people like Frank. A way to turn what they can offer into something good instead of locking them up forever. And, I plan on being a part of that journey, if he’ll let me. So I would really really like you to support that.”

Foggy screams into a pillow. 

“Fine,” says Foggy after coming up for air and chugging the rest of his beer. “Fine. I don’t know what I’m going to do about the fucking seating chart, much less when Marci’s parents run crying from the church.”

Karen throws her arms around Foggy and hugs him tightly to her. 

“You don’t have to worry. Frank and I talked and he’s going to look a bit...well a lot different. No one will recognize him.” Karen’s voice is fond and excited. 

“No buzz cut and kevlar?” asks Foggy. He sounds unconvinced. Matt is certainly unconvinced.

“More hair and an oiled beard,” Karen clarifies.

“No.” Annoyingly, Foggy’s heart rate is slightly elevated. What is the deal with Frank Castle?

“Foggy. You cannot be weird about this,” Karen warns. Her tone is deathly serious.

“A beard? Are we talking artisanal furniture craftsman or full unabomber?”

“You gotta be very normal. He can pull it off, I promise.”

“If you say so.”

“I really do,” says Karen. Matt groans. His beer is gone. 

“Gross. I mean, continue.” Foggy is clearly a lost cause. 

Karen chuckles and threads her arm through Foggy’s and lays her head onto his shoulder. They continue to chat conspiratorially, nestled together on the couch. The larger project of guest list management is clearly forgotten. 

Matt walks over to the hallway and puts on his shoes. He grabs for his cane, keys, and slips his wallet into his pocket. The couch squeaks as Karen stands up and follows him toward the door. She lifts her wool coat and cotton scarf off the hook and slips into her heels. Matt sighs, he guesses she is planning on having their chat now.

“I’m just getting more beer,” says Matt.

“I’ll come with you,” Karen insists. Her perfume clings to her scarf and the smell is heady.

“Fine, leave me with this mess,” calls Foggy petulantly. 

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Matt responds. He looks back at Karen. “We don’t have to talk about this.” A few minutes ago he had been dying to yell about Frank Castle. Now he is really not sure if there is a point. It does not change anything. It’s good to know that whatever is broken inside of Matt is more unlovable than any damage Frank took from a bullet to the brain. Claire had left him and then dated Luke Cage and now Karen is ready to go on a Bachelorette style “journey” with The Punisher. He wishes Karen and Frank champagne toasts and bouquets of bullets. 

“I really think we do,” says Karen. She slides a hand up his arm and the touch reinforces how tense he is. He shrugs her off on the pretext of putting on his coat. “We’ll be right back,” Karen reassures Foggy and walks toward the door, waiting for Matt to follow her. 

There is a dampness in the air. The last of the winter slurry has receded to small piles in the shadowy corners of the street. The cold breeze from across the river seeps through Matt’s coat and hoodie and the moisture clings to the back of his neck. He pulls his hood up over his head. At his side, matching his pace, Karen wraps her arms around her chest and he can hear the rustle of fabric as she pulls her shoulders up to bury her chin in her scarf. Her heels click against the cracked pavement and she moves away from him in order to skirt a grate. Matt remains resolutely silent. 

“You’re confused,” Karen states, which Matt thinks is rich. 

“I’m not the one bringing The Punisher to a wedding.”

“We need to talk about this Matt. We need to talk about us.” Her tone is a little shaky. She is mad at him but trying to control it. That is fine. He is angry too. 

“Pretty sure there isn’t an us Karen. You made that clear.”

She huffs and skips forward, blocking his path. She puts a hand on his chest. For a second he thinks how easy it would be to shake her off. Hell, how easy it would be to just leave her and Foggy both. But where would he go? Foggy is at his apartment and if he went to Saint Agnes Maggie will be there. And Maggie will have things to say too. He stills, waiting to see what Karen’s next move is going to be. 

“This isn’t going to work if you don’t tell me,” says Karen, sounding exactly like Maggie. “Just tell me how you feel about this. I don’t care if it's mean. I don’t care if you’re angry, just be honest. We can go from there.”

Matt sighs. This is not fair. He does not even want to have this conversation. Karen’s hand slides up to his face and he can feel the warmth of her palm. He takes a breath. He wants to lean into it, into her. Honesty, he remembers, is something he needs to work on.

“I kind of thought,” Matt stumbles, trying to push past the anger to get to the turgid pit of disappointment in his stomach, “that maybe, after all of this, that someday…” He takes a breath. This is not working. “I know I haven’t finished atoning for hurting you, for letting you down--”

Karen grabs Matt and pulls him into her arms. His stubble scratches against her soft cheek. He smells the rosewater, the mint of her shampoo, and also the garlic from the tofu. All of it surrounds him just as much as her arms, cocooning him in a comforting embrace. He sighs, relaxing into the intimacy of being held. 

“Matt, I don’t want or need you to atone. You asked for forgiveness, and you got it.” He feels her smile. “I’m Lutheran like that I guess.”

Matt chuckles, even as his chest feels tight. 

“We’ve spent a while now trying to figure out what we want from each other,” says Karen softly. “I think if I was a boy like Foggy maybe we would have gotten there faster.”

Matt laughs a little cynically, thinking of how NOT simple the first semester of college had been with Foggy. Karen sighs, but she smiles again.

“Okay maybe not. The point is though, I want to be your family. I want to be there for you on the bad days. I want to celebrate the wins. I don’t want to have a life without you. I don’t really have anybody else in this world. I trust you more than anyone, except Foggy, no offence.” People keep saying that to Matt today when they definitely mean to be offensive. 

“I told you,” continues Karen, pushing back so she can see his face, “that I didn’t think Daredevil was the reason we weren’t together.” Matt remembers. The memory stings even now. “That wasn’t me rejecting you,” Karen insists. He can hear the truth in her words. “Matt, I am never, ever, going to do that. I am always going to wait for you to come home. It’s just a bit different than maybe we thought.”

Matt sighs. There’s sadness still, but Matt can’t really fix it on anything in particular. Being with Karen would have been so easy, healthy even. She is exactly the kind of person that could handle his life. But, she is not really going anywhere. It is almost a relief. The expectations Matt had always felt inadequate to meet have fallen away and she is just Karen. He might still disappoint her, still hurt her, but that looming threat that one day she will be done with him has receded.

“Are we okay?” Karen asks. “Not all of use can read pulses and hormones.”

“Yeah,” says Matt, and this time he leans in to hug her first. It feels almost natural. He doesn’t need to wait for moments when Karen is so upset she would welcome a hug from anyone, or for her to initiate. Karen sighs happily. 

“I still don’t approve of your boyfriend,” says Matt. 

“God Dad,” Karen adopts an adolescent whine. “He’s not even my boyfriend, why would you say that?”

Matt laughs and allows Karen to thread her arm through his as they walk down the street to the bodega. He is not thrilled, but he is happy to feel on firm ground. 

***

Foggy and Karen leave around two a.m. He listens until he can hear them both get into the cab. The walk to their places is not long, but it is late and Matt had insisted. Alone at last, Matt can hear the hum of the building and the city all around him. 

Matt puts on an album, Debussy, and pours himself a scotch. He can already feel his back resetting. By tomorrow he should be limber enough to track the Russians who have been hanging out around the new Rand building going up on 11th. He tries not to feel restless. Things in Hell’s Kitchen usually quiet down around now. On Thursdays most of the muggings and lower level street violence go down between sunset until 1 AM. After that, the streets are too cold for that type of activity. 

Matt cuts the smell of garlic and soy sauce by scrubbing down the counters and mopping the floor. He is glad Foggy and Karen had taken the garbage down with them. The citric sharpness of grapefruit and lemon hangs heavy in the room. Matt settles into his leather chair and rolls his head, stretching his neck and attempting to make his shoulders relax, to release the stress of the last few hours.

The world is a little bit different now and as usual change fills Matt with ambivalence. Marci Stahl not only knows who he is but has been protecting that knowledge for over a year. He has always known she is good person deep down. She would have to be if Foggy loves her. But Marci certainly hasn’t done much to convince him of that herself. Or had she and Matt had just willfully seen what he wanted to see, the way he had with Karen. 

Karen...Matt sips his scotch. Matt tries to pinpoint the moment he fell in love with her and is surprised when he comes up empty. She had been a pretty girl in a lot of trouble and Matt had wanted to help her. She had been nice, and sweet, but so are a lot of people Matt meets, both as a lawyer and in his other life. No, what had made Karen different had been Foggy. Foggy had adored her from the first day they had met and she had clearly adored him back. Matt thinks of her words tonight, “We’ve spent a while now trying to figure out what we want from each other.” Hadn’t she and Foggy gone through the same thing? Matt had listened, largely from a distance, as Foggy and Karen had flirted, had teased each other, had trusted each other, and then ultimately had settled into being friends. Too many people take Foggy Nelson for granted, but Karen never had. And unlike Marci, Matt had liked the way Karen fit into their lives, the natural way she had made space for herself while also never threatening what was already there. 

Matt drags his memory back to Freshman year. It seems like an eternity ago. That first semester hadn’t Matt also wondered if Foggy could be it, despite the fact that he’d never felt real attraction. From the first day Foggy had been generous and fun and made Matt feel normal in a way he had barely remembered feeling. Matt had been so desperate for Foggy’s attention and so sure there was only one way to get it. It had only been Foggy’s enormous emotional maturity that had steered them safely through those first three months.

Matt always feels on firmer ground with the physical side of things. He understands when people want to touch him - either sexually, or, more often, violently. But what Foggy wants from him, and now what Karen says she wants from him, that is so much more nebulous. What they want is so much harder to satisfy. 

His thoughts shift to Elektra. She had loved him and he had certainly loved her. That feeling had been so different from Foggy or Karen. It had been violent and dark and obsessive. She had seen every ugly instinct of his and welcomed them. She’d wanted to die with him. Maybe she had. If being in love is self-destructive and selfish, Matt thinks, maybe it is better that it stays far away from him.

And yet, there is also the memory of strong, gentle fingers running over his head and the rapid pounding of her heart as she had moved her hands over his chest, back, and ribs. The quickness and efficiency, had always been followed by an inadvertently languid caress. Claire had smelled like the hospital, strong soap and bleach. He had hated those smells since age nine. Yet on Claire, mixed with the coconut of her conditioner and the vanilla of her moisturizer, there had been a sense of comforting efficiency, safety laced with something playful and thrilling. 

“You know what this was, or could be,” she’d told him. The regret still eats at him, years later. Could he have done something different? He thinks about the last time they were alone together on the roof of the hospital. Claire had reached out to him, if only as a friend, and he’d thrown it in her face after everything she had done for him. And Matt had done it on purpose. Better, he had reasoned, for her to wash her hands of him than to give him the chance to get her killed. And it had felt better to be alone rather than to live with Claire’s disappointment in him. 

Foggy had told him to call Claire after Fisk was back in prison. Foggy had gone so far as to program her new number into his phone. But even now Matt can’t think of anything to say to her. She has clearly moved on. Matt finishes his scotch. Everyone is moving on. Foggy is ever closer to running for office, and with the wedding, he is probably on track to start creating more Nelsons. The thought makes Matt smile even as the sadness looms. But Karen had said she’s not going anywhere, and that is something. Karen is right, it is a different way of loving someone. 

There’s a scream four blocks away. Matt leaps up, thrilled that there is something he can do with his night.


	6. 4 Months before the Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy and Marci's wedding is just around the corner. Karen is throwing herself into work (and gossip) to keep from moping. Matt is still working through his mess. And Claire would really like to have a nice lazy day at home.
> 
> Oh, and Jessica appears at last!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the hot gossip!

Karen hangs up her phone and tips her head to the side thoughtfully.

“What’s the word?” asks Foggy, who unlike Matt has only heard half the conversation.

“I need to go uptown,” says Karen. “The DCP is considering zoning some properties for redevelopment up in Harlem and I want to see who the buyers are.”

“You think the Russian’s are expanding?” asks Matt.

“Or moving,” Karen offers. “Between you and Frank, Hell’s Kitchen has not been very hospitable lately.”

“They shouldn’t have come back,” says Matt, his voice grim. To say that Matt has taken the return of the Russian mob to Hell’s Kitchen badly would grossly mischaracterize his cold fury.

There had been a slickness to the gang’s infiltration of the neighborhood. Rather than the violent territory battles that usually accompany the assenstion of a new power player, this Russian faction had been remarkably quiet. So much so that the use of the barge as a transfer point for women being smuggled into New York never hit Matt’s radar. That is until Frank had started setting things on fire. That had been a blow to Matt’s pride. In the wake of the revelation, Matt had been clearly wearing the signs of late nights and violent encounters. Even with these efforts, however, Matt had been forced to admit that Nelson, Murdock, and Page’s more traditional investigations on behalf of their clients had so far proved more fruitful in gathering evidence about the Russians’ plans in Hell’s Kitchen.

“We need copies of development permits,” muses Karen. “If we can see who is signing off on them we’ll know who in the Mayor’s office is on the payroll.”

“I’ll bother Tower,” says Foggy. “What’s your plan Matty?”

Matt crosses his arms. Karen can see the stress he is carrying.

“There’s going to be a meeting tonight. Maybe Daredevil will hear something.”

“Okay,” Karen sighs, and grabs her purse. “I’ll give you a call when I’m on my way back downtown.”

“Ugh!,” Foggy yells. Karen looks at him eagerly to see what Foggy has put together, only to see him reach for his white board. The scary white board. Karen valiantly does not laugh.

“What did you just remember?”

“I left Luke off my last seating plan,” says Foggy. “That completely messes up the weirdo table.”

“I’m gonna head out,” interjects Matt quickly, because he is a traitor who is not subtle about ditching Karen with all the wedding planning.

“Did Luke say he is going?” asks Karen.

“No, but when I called Danny earlier about getting Rand’s latest audited financial documents he said Luke was seriously considering going.” Foggy stares in pain at this white board. “I’m gonna have to move Claire. That’s a problem. Unless you think Luke Cage would be okay sitting with my other clients?” Karen shrugs, out of her depth with these friends of Foggy’s.

“Matt,” says Karen with a smirk. “You know them, what do you think Foggy should do?” On the verge of making his escape, Matt is arrested in the doorway. She feels righteously pleased at his annoyance at being caught.

“Just leave them at the weirdo table,” says Matt. Foggy lets out an exaggerated sigh.

“Matt, I am not going to seat Claire with her ex boyfriend.”

Matt whips around. Karen can see the confusion and, she thinks, anger.

“Luke broke up with Claire?” Matt demands. He is gripping his cane and his knuckles are white. Karen spins in her chair, not even pretending to hide her intrigue.

“Yeah,” says Foggy, his voice patronizing. Apparently this gossip is old news. Karen tries to remember what she knows about Luke and Claire. Luke is the bulletproof man of Harlem. He is also Foggy’s client from back at his other firm. And Claire is Foggy’s nurse friend. Or, that is what Karen had thought. She looks back at Matt.

“When!” asks Matt.

“Like, a year ago,” says Foggy. “You would know this if you had just called her like I told you to.” Interesting, thinks Karen. Matt has never, ever, talked to her about a Claire. Karen only knows about her from Foggy who used to visit her at Metro-General and now hits her up for potential clients in Brooklyn. Karen is beginning to suspect that there are reasons she has not met Claire.

“Why?” asks Matt. He sounds edgy, exasperated.

“I dunno,” says Foggy disingenuously. Even Karen can tell that is a lie. Matt waits. “Okay,” Foggy amends, “I don’t know the details, but Luke’s running Harlem these days and you know Claire pretty well. What do you think happened?” Matt breathes in harshly, like he is going to say something, but decides against it.

“You know Claire pretty well?” asks Karen, unable to resist.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Matt replies grimly. Foggy snorts.

“Whose fault is that?” asks Foggy.

“I gotta go,” Matt deflects. “See you tomorrow. Be careful Karen.” The door slams behind him.

“Woah,” says Karen. “What the hell was that?”

Foggy rolls his eyes.

“Honestly? Even I’m not really sure. But the vibes are crazy. Matt used to have a phone just for Claire. Before Maggie, or maybe before he had the costume, Claire patched him up. But I get the impression they stopped talking a few years back. And Matt did tell me once that it didn’t work out between them. Again, crazy vibes. Claire also does NOT talk about Matt. Like, she almost never says his name. It’s usually, ‘our mutual friend.’”

“Weird,” says Karen.

“Right!” exclaims Foggy. He pulls his chair over, keen to gossip. Karen wonders how he has managed to hold it in all this time.

“Normally I’d just assume Matt was an asshole and she hates him, which would be fair,” Foggy concedes. “But the few times I’ve seen her with Matt I didn’t get that impression at all. She was scared and worried, and kind of...I dunno frustrated. She was there when he died. She was the one who told me what went down that day.”

“That is interesting,” says Karen who is all too familiar with that mixture of feelings. She thinks of sitting with Frank in the hospital and the intense urge she had to punch him and kiss him at the same time.

“Like, I know Matt has dated half the hotties in the city,” at this he gestures to Karen. She swats his hand. “But like, those girls do not know who he is. And I don’t just mean about his other...interests. I mean like his actual personality, which as we both know is terrible. And the ones who do stick around long enough for me to actually meet them are almost always the worst. But Claire is super cool, way better than all the rest.”

“Thanks Foggy.”

“Obviously aside from you,” Foggy corrects. “Although I am kind of happy you and Matt are done flirting. Love you both, but that was a level of stress I did not need.”

Karen does laugh at that. The last month has felt better and more comfortable than ever before. The change in Matt has been the most noticeable. Even on edge about the Russians he has seemed more centered. He actually tells them both what he is thinking and is less evasive about what he has been doing.

“I should get going,” Karen says reluctantly. “Maybe next time you head to Brooklyn I can come too. See if I can get her to talk.”

“Oooh,” says Foggy. “I like this plan. No idea when we’ll have time, but I like it.”

Karen grabs her scarf and heads out into the spring evening. It is a lovely night and Karen leaves her coat untied. Everyone is heading out to the bars which have opened their windows and doors, filling the street with laughter and music. It would be such a nice night to find a table outside and just relax. She can picture tattooed knuckles sliding across a table to hold her hand.

Longing mingles with disappointment as Karen heads down to the A. That vision of normalcy does not have a place for Frank. Worrying at her bottom lip, Karen wonders where Frank has been. She has been checking in with hospitals and her contacts at _The Bulletin_ , but there has been no news of Frank Castle for months.

Matt had kept a phone just to call Claire. Why couldn’t Frank do the same for her? Karen still has a bouquet of flowers in her apartment that she could set in the window, but she hasn’t tried that since Fisk had been returned to prison. In all those weeks of terror, Frank hadn’t come. She knows now that Frank had been gone at the time, but Karen is afraid to test him again. He’ll be at the wedding, Karen tells herself, and that means enough.

She knows she is lying even as she thinks it. She does not want to see Frank once every six months. She wants to come home to see him on her fire escape, ready to share a drink on a beautiful night. She wants to wrap her arms around him and feel his breath on her ear.

How does this Claire do it? Karen wonders. All Karen wants to do is talk about Frank with someone. If Foggy gave her the vaguest hint he really wanted to hear about Frank she would probably end up talking all night. But since Karen’s first conversation with Foggy in the wake of her confession, Foggy’s ambivalence about Frank being a permanent fixture in Karen’s life has been palpable. Pushing the sadness down, Karen considers her game plan when she gets to Harlem. The wedding is only four months away and she has plenty to do.

***

Sitting in the restaurant across from the Borough President’s Office, Karen jots down a few more details in her notebook about the proposed zoning changes as well as the various people Lionel has clocked taking meetings and doing walkthroughs of the site. Lionel Burress is on _The Bulletin’s_ metro desk and the depth of his knowledge about city planning is stunning.

“Thanks,” Karen reiterates. “This is really going to help with our class action.”

“Of course,” says Lionel. “Always happy to help the fight against gentrification.” Karen smiles. She’s about to pack up, when out the window she sees a group of men exit the President’s Office Building. In the center is a particularly tall man who looks familiar.”

“Is that Luke Cage?” asks Karen.

“You know Luke?” Lionel replies, sounding impressed.

“Not really,” Karen returns distractedly. She grabs her notebook, purse, and scarf, and heads quickly to the door. “We’ll catch up soon,” she hears herself say as she leaves Lionel, confused, sitting at their booth.

“Luke Cage,” she calls, hustling across the street. Karen pushes down the embarrassment that always comes when she has to impose herself. The tall man stops and turns to look at her. She see the men around him tense suspiciously.

“Do I know you?” asks Luke.

“Karen Page,” she says, holding out her hand. Luke takes it, and she sees his eyebrows quirk in recognition. Thank god.

“Karen Page,” he repeats, and the sound of her own name in his deep baritone is truly something. “From _The Bulletin_. I’m a fan.”

“Well, formerly,” Karen corrects, and self consciously brushes her hair behind her ear. “Now I’m the investigator for Nelson, Murdoch, and Page.”

The name of her firm causes Luke to grin. Poor Matt, Karen can’t help but think. Luke Cage is a lot to compete against.

“Do you have a moment?” asks Karen, pressing her advantage.

“For Franklin and Matthew’s colleague, of course.” Still, he looks at his watch and takes in the lack of enthusiasm from his men.

“We can walk and talk,” offers Karen. “I don’t want to keep you long.” Luke looks meaningfully at his entourage and she sees them withdraw a few steps. Luke nods at her and starts walking in the direction of the A and Karen quickly rushes to catch up. He is so tall. Karen does not feel small often, but right now she is a child.

“So how can I help you Ms. Page?” asks Luke. “Don’t tell me you are after my RSVP.”

“Karen, please. And No,” she says with a smile. “Although we were discussing that earlier today. Actually I’m up here on firm business that might be of interest to you.”

“You have my attention Karen.” Seriously, what a voice.

“We’re working on a class action suit against Rand for violating the affordable housing requirements in their Hell’s Kitchen development. However, we think the problem may be a bit more widespread than Hell’s Kitchen. I was following a lead that Rand is pushing to move forward on a couple projects in Harlem.”

Luke nods, his face serious.

“Your lead wasn’t wrong,” he says. “Just a little old. I can tell you that those plans are no longer going forward.”

“Oh?” asks Karen.

“And that’s all I can tell you,” Luke apologizes.

“I see,” says Karen, although she suspects she doesn’t know the half of it. “Well, if there is anything you can tell us, I’ll give you my card.”

“No need,” says Luke with a smile. “I know how to get in touch. And if I hear anything at all that will help, I’ll be sure to pass it on.” Luke seems to mean it, but based on the rumors Karen has heard about Harlem’s Paradise she wonders if that is true. Even if Luke, Foggy, and Matt have history, things are a bit complicated now.

“We’d appreciate it,” Karen tells him. “And you should try to give Foggy an answer about the wedding. I’m worried the guest list stress might actually drive him crazy.”

Luke laughs fondly.

“I’ll let him know soon,” he promises. There’s a beat and pensive quiet falls over Luke. “Any truth to the rumors Franklin is switching teams and going to work for the City?”

Karen pushes her hair behind her ear and puts her hands in her pockets. Now she is the one feeling the need to be evasive.

“I would say, long term, Foggy is probably aiming toward public service. But I can’t comment on a timeline.”

“A lot of people think your Franklin’s a real pain in the ass already,” says Luke. “He’ll attract a lot of enemies in the DA's office.”

“We have a lot of enemies already,” corrects Karen. “And I think we’re all tired of playing defense.”

“I can appreciate that,” says Luke. He stops, and Karen realizes they have reached the subway station. “It was lovely meeting you Karen. Hopefully we’ll get a chance to talk again soon.”

“Maybe at the wedding?”

“Maybe,” agrees Luke.

***

Matt makes his way toward the Rand building site via back alleys, avoiding the cameras wherever possible. It is barely 9 p.m., but Matt is planning to stake out the area to find the best vantage point to clock who at Rand the Russians are meeting. However, even by that standard, Matt is early. He had left the office, and then his apartment, in a rush, anxious and angry. He wants to hit something, or someone, and that knowledge fills him with self loathing. Maybe he should be going to confession, Matt thinks, to try to purge the evil thoughts that are trying to overwhelm him.

The idea no sooner registers than Matt turns and walks toward St. Agnes. With his mask in his pocket he looks like any normal jogger. He unclips his cane from his belt loop in case any of the parishioners recognize him and lets himself into the nave. He can hear Maggie arranging flowers at the altar. Maggie seems to sense him in return because she stands up and turns so she can look at him.

“Matthew,” she says. Matt nods and heads toward a pew in the back, far from the other people who have come into the church to pray. After a minute Maggie joins him. She sits quietly, but Matt can hear her elevated heart rate. Neither of them are really comfortable yet. Matt wonders if this last minute decision had been a mistake.

“I feel like I’m failing,” Matt says at last. “Lately, nothing I do seems to change anything.”

“What exactly are you failing at?” asks Maggie.

Father Lantom had never asked for specifics. Matt isn’t sure how to even answer that question safely.

“Are you just failing professionally?” Maggie clarifies. “Because if it is your work that feels like it is going nowhere, we can talk about that. I might not be able to help, but I can listen. But if it’s something else, you should try to untangle that.”

Matt sighs and knows he sounds petulant, childish even.

“Well said,” drawls Maggie. Strangely the sarcasm helps. Her annoyance and sharpness makes Matt feel less guilty about his own bad temper.

“When you left,” Matt starts, and he can feel Maggie tense next to him. “Did you wish Dad went after you? Or was it better to have your space to restart your own life?”

Maggie’s hand goes up to her rosary and she idly runs her fingers along the beads, not praying, but allowing the familiar gesture to calm her. He can feel her meditative breathing.

“When I left, I felt incredible guilt. I didn’t think I deserved to be in your lives. I threw myself into service and did everything I could to stay busy and to feel useful as if that could be penance. That lasted a while. But one day I saw a man, a different man, walking into church holding his son’s hand, and more than anything I wanted him to be your father coming to bring me home.” Maggie takes a ragged breath. Instinctively, Matt reaches out and puts his hand on hers.

“I’m trying to decide,” Matt explains, because he needs to reassure Maggie that he hadn’t asked to hurt her, “if after all this time, and all the hurt I’ve caused, it would be okay, ethical even, to reach out to a friend I used to know. Before, I thought it wasn’t, that I would be unwanted. I still might be unwanted…”

Maggie squeezes his hand once before letting go. Matt feels the emptiness, but he knows that there are limits to what Maggie can comfortably offer.

“You should call her,” says Maggie. “Whoever she is. And you are never unwanted.”

“Thank you,” Matt says, standing up. He pauses for a second, but with a brisk nod, leaves the church.

***

Claire turns on the light in her apartment. A soft yellow glow fills the space. She flops down on the dark blue velveteen couch and rolls onto her back, her knees leaning against the sofa cushions. Above her she can see the hanging lamps. A few cobwebs have formed in the chains that suspend them from the ceiling. Claire can not remember when she had last bothered to dust. This weekend, she lies to herself, there will be time this weekend.

She reaches for the remote control, turns on the television, and scrolls through the live tv options, too tired to really care much about what she watches. There is a soccer game on Univision and that seems as good as anything. With her eyes closed, Claire enjoys the quick emotional cadence of the game commentator as he describes the movement of the ball around the pitch. El fútbol es mejor en Español. Not that she has much time to watch with her current schedule. She reminds herself that she should check the baseball scores for the last week before going to her mother’s on Sunday. If she is not able to name every Yankee who scored a run, Soledad may disown her.

The phone rings and Claire pushes her face into the cushions. Anything worth saying can be done over text. Unless it’s work. Claire sighs because it probably is work. Who else calls anymore? The ringing stops and Claire peeks out from the pillow, checking that it is safe. The phone starts to ring again. Dammit. She grabs her cell off the coffee table and is surprised at the name on the name on the screen, Colleen.

“Hey Colleen?” she says, the “are you okay” implicit in her voice.

“Claire!” Colleen exclaims, her voice delighted. “How are you?”

“Good, good,” Claire gets out right before a yawn. “You?”

“Same, all things considered.” There could be novels of information encompassed in “all things considered.” Then again, it could just be a reference to Danny.

“What’s going on?” asks Claire again. Colleen has clearly called for a reason. If she had wanted to grab drinks she would have texted.

“Danny and I want to know if you are going to Foggy’s wedding?”

Claire closes her eyes and grimaces. Marci had also sent her a message just the other day asking the same thing. Apparently Foggy has started acting like some sort of deranged conspiracy theorist and has been carrying a white board around with 20 different colored markers in order to map the seating chart. Detailed spreadsheets contain intense biographical information so that Foggy can determine the safest way to seat the eclectic guest list.

“I don’t think so,” says Claire at last. “It was really sweet of them both to send the invite, but I don’t have that many free weekends and it might be a little awkward.”

“Because of Luke?” asks Colleen sympathetically. Partly, thinks Claire. He is certainly on the list of people she is not sure would be a good idea for her to see.

“I really don’t think you need to worry about Luke…” Colleen trails off at the end. “At least I don’t think you have to worry about it being an awkward ex situation. Misty and I got drinks the other night. Did you know he and Misty hooked up? He and Jessica too!” Claire is startled. She’d know about Jessica. Jess had been very blunt about it quite early on. Misty however is more private. She wonders, unfairly, why Luke himself hadn’t brought it up.

“Are Luke and Misty seeing each other?” Claire asks. She’s not exactly sure how she feels about that, but ‘not great’ is in the ballpark.

“No!” Colleen objects, a tad vehemently. “I just mean, Luke seems pretty good about staying friends with his exes. He’ll probably be fine.”

Claire thinks of the only time since the break-up she had gone to Harlem’s Paradise, of being asked to leave while Luke had stood in a perfectly tailored suit on the balcony above, surveying his new kingdom. She is not so sure that this new Luke Cage wants to be her--or anybody’s--friend. The silence stretches. On the television, Claire hears the announcer call the gol.

“He might not even go,” Colleen tries. “He was Foggy’s lawyer, but they aren’t exactly close.” Claire wants to believe that, but Foggy’s possible campaign is starting to be gossiped about in even the more legitimate New York City tabloids. Luke will want to cultivate a relationship with the future DA.

“Fine,” says Colleen. “I didn’t want to pull this one out, but I will go nuclear if you make me.”

“Nuclear?”

“Come on Claire, I don’t know anyone else at this wedding. It’s going to be a full weekend of Danny trying to fit in with rich White people by talking about the stock market, elections, and other boring rich people stuff. I bet no one even gets punched!”

“You make it sound so appealing” Claire laughs. “Winning strategy.”

“But if you go with me,” Colleen weedles, “it will be three days of free wine and food. We can rejuvenate our spirits with some autumnal foliage and we can wake up early and go running on the trails by the lake.”

“You can run with Danny.”

“Fine, I’ll run with Danny. But you know he doesn’t drink. And we can dance. How long has it been since you danced Claire? Do you want to go to some loud smelly club with handsy guys whose fingers you have to break? Or, do you want to take over the dance floor in a tent with lots of those giant hanging light bulbs that White girls love and get down with some crazy Nelsons?”

Claire finds herself smiling at the image. Foggy will definitely be dancing. And drunk Foggy is a really fun Foggy. She thinks of the pictures of The Vineyard Inn Marci had sent to tempt her. Plus, if Colleen is there to hang out with, then maybe she can avoid Luke...and Matt. There are going to be a lot of people at this wedding after all.

“Let me see about my work schedule,” Claire says, giving herself an out in case she wakes up after the first eight hours’ sleep she has had in weeks and instantly regrets this conversation.

“I’ll take it!” says Colleen. “And also I already told Marci you would be there so you have to tell her if you can’t go okay byeeeeeeee!!!!!” Colleen hangs up.

“Jesus,” sighs Claire. The unholy alliance of Marci Stahl and Colleen Wing has her trapped. She stretches and sits up. Heading to the kitchen she puts the kettle on the stove, pulling out a cardamom tea packet and a mug that says, “My House, My Rules, My Coffee” in homage to _Knives Out_. It had been her Secret Santa gift from work.

She switches on the radio to a jazz station. Louis Arsmstrong croons “Stormy Weather.” Claire’s just beginning to sway to the music when the song cuts off.

_We interrupt this program with breaking news from Hell's Kitchen. What appears to be a small bomb blast has collapsed part of Rand Real Estate Development’s new building site, located on 11th Avenue between 46th and 47th streets. No people are believed to have been on site at the time of the incident and so far emergency workers have not encountered anyone injured in the blast. Authorities are still looking into the cause. The explosion is believed to have happened just after 10 PM this evening. Citing investigators at the scene, a spokesperson for RRED, a subsidiary of Rand Enterprises, said they believe the collapse was most likely an industrial accident. The NYPD refuses to rule out a terrorist attack or any other possibilities at this time. More on this story as it develops…_

The tea kettle is shrieking but Claire runs back over to the couch where her phone has slipped into the cushions. She yanks it out and swipes to her recent calls. To her surprise, she sees that there is a missed call from a number she doesn’t recognize, the call directly proceding Colleen’s. Frowning, Claire hits Colleen’s number and walks nervously back to the kitchen to turn the burner off. After a few rings, Colleen answers.

“Was that you all?” asks Claire.

“What all?” asks Colleen.

“The bomb, the bomb in Hell’s Kitchen?”

“Oh,” says Colleen. She sounds a bit out of breath. “Sort of. Not really. Kind of? Pretty sure it’s got everything to do with Rand and nothing to do with Danny’s, ah, other stuff.”

“But you’re alright?” Claire can hear a crash in the background and what sounds like something wooden splitting.

“Yeah. No. No one in a bomb blast here. And I got this situation totally under control. I’ll call you later okay?”

“Sure,” says Claire as the line goes dead again. What the hell? She decides to take Colleen’s word for her current safety. Colleen isn’t one to boast without reason.

Claire stares at the other number on her phone. It’s a New York area code. Claire has pretty strict rules against returning unknown calls. She hits it anyway. After two rings the line goes quiet and a voice tells her the number she is calling is not available and to try again later. Claire hangs up. After a pause Claire hits another one of her contacts.

“Claire!” says Foggy. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. Fine. I’m home in Brooklyn. I heard about the blast. That’s pretty close to your place. Is everyone alright?” Foggy sighs. On the other end of the line and she can hear the worry in his voice.

“Marci and I are fine. Also home. Karen just texted a check in as well. She’s in Harlem actually, following up a lead. She’s gonna stay with us tonight since there is a chance her street is blocked off.”

“That’s good,” says Claire. It’s good Foggy’s friend is safe.

“I’ll let you know if I hear from Matt,” Foggy says quietly. “You know how unreliable he can be about answering calls.” She certainly does. “I’ve also talked to a couple people on the NYPD who promised to give me a call if there is anything to know.”

“Okay. Get some rest Foggy. Nothing any of us can do tonight,” says Claire.

“You too Claire.”

Claire goes back into the kitchen and puts the tea away and instead pulls out a dusty labeless bottle of rum she brought back from Cuba. She pours it into a tall glass and tops it up with Coke from the fridge. Claire is never getting eight hours of sleep tonight.

***

Her phone is ringing and it can’t possibly be 7 a.m. Claire rolls over to find it is in fact 6:15 a.m. on her first day off in over a week. She reaches for her nightstand to find her phone is not there. Right, she had slept with it in her hand. Claire rummages in the blankets before finding the source of the ringing sticking out from the edge of her pillow. “Jessica Jones” is glowing on the screen.

“Jess?” says Claire, her voice horse. There is gunk in her right eye that she tries to clear.

“Temple,” says Jessica. Her voice also sounds gravelly, either from the hour or just drinking.

“Is this about the bomb?” asks Claire.

“Bomb?” asks Jessica. “What bomb?” Claire does a good job not screaming.

“The one in Hell’s Kitchen last night.”

“That? No. That’s Matty’s beat. Besides, pretty sure that’s just good old fashioned insurance fraud. Danny Boy has a bit of a problem with his real estate division. There isn’t a developer in this city who isn’t swimming in dirty money.”

“Oh,” says Claire. Of course. Maybe that is what Colleen had been getting at. Colleen probably would have explained better if she had not been...doing whatever it is Colleen and Danny are doing these days. She thinks of Foggy’s voice last night and is a bit relieved she is not the only one sick with worry.

“I called to thank you for the tip,” says Jessica. Claire can hear her rattling around what sounds like a kitchen. Claire tries to think what tip Jessica could possibly be talking about at 6:15 a.m. As if reading her mind, Jessica clarifies, “The one about the auditor’s cookout? The kidnapping attempt?”

“Oh, yeah,” says Claire. “That was months ago.”

“Was it?” asks Jessica.

“Pretty sure.”

“Huh.” says Jessica.

“Jessica, it is very early. I have had no coffee. If you do not get to the point I will let you bleed out the next time you call me.”

“Shit!” says Jessica. “Fuck, it's the morning. My day is not going great.”

Claire wonders what counts as a great Jessica day.

“I’m awake now anyway. Was there something you needed?”

“Oh, it’s about Franklin’s wedding. I thought we could go together. Split a room. Damned if I got the cash for two nights in some upstate B&B probably decorated with haunted Victorian dolls. But I figure if we go together we can splurge for at least a Comfort Inn.”

How is this once again about Foggy’s god damned wedding. She sighs.

“I actually have a room,” Claire admits. Clearly the universe has decided she is going to this stupid...celebration of love.

“Oh, perfect,” says Jessica. She can hear what sounds like whisky being poured. “How much is it? I mean, I’m on a budget, but I’ll arrange the car if I can’t hit half.”

Claire hadn’t even considered how she is going to get up there.

“Actually it’s comped. There’s an inn on the property and I guess Foggy arranged to hold some rooms for friends.”

“Shit. I didn’t get a free room!”

“They probably didn’t think you were going to come.” As she says it, Claire realizes she’s being rude. This is what four hours of sleep does to a person. Thankfully Jessica does not seem offended. Or, no more so than her entire brusque persona always seems a little offended.

“Hmm, fair,” says Jessica, and then there is a weird Wookie like sound. Is Jessica gargling whiskey? Claire hears what is definitely spit hitting a sink. “Truthfully,” continues Jessica, “I wasn’t going to go anywhere near those woods. People get murdered in the woods.”

“People get murdered here,” says Claire, trying to keep up. “All the time.”

“But it’s way creepier when you’re trapped in the middle of nowhere. Just trees. Blegh.” Claire thinks of Colleen’s ode to fall foliage. The promise of outdoor activities and dancing seems like the opposite of what Jessica Jones is about, just, in life.

“So why are you going?” asks Claire. Even tired she can not help her curiosity.

“Ugh,” says Jessica. “Since Hogarth died a lot of my contacts have dried up. Gillian has been riding me to try to drum up more business. She says showing my face at this thing might be helpful. I got some press in the last year so if any of those rich people see me maybe they’ll feel like they know me well enough to give me a call. Or something like that. That’s what Malcom said.” Malcolm, Claire remembers him vaguely from Jessica’s apartment. He had been sweet, handsome. Maybe Claire should come up with an excuse to swing by and meet Alias Investigation’s new partner. The thought is idle and dismissed before it fully forms. Claire is not really looking for a date right now. Which is ironic considering Jessica is after just that.

“I don’t know Jessica,” says Claire. The idea of sharing a room with Jessica Jones does not fit into Colleen’s vision for the weekend and Claire isn’t sure she can hack it. “I was thinking of not going anyway.”

“Hmmm,” says Jessica. Claire can hear a door slam and the sounds of cars. Jessica is on the move. “Claire, seems to me we’re all going to end up at this wedding whether we want to or not. And if you go with me, you won’t have to drive five hours with Danny.”

“You make a good point,” says Claire.

“Good. I’ll work on the car. And don’t worry about Matt. He’s survived bigger building collapses.” The line goes dead.

Claire closes her eyes and rolls to her side, She slips her phone into silent mode and tries to go back to sleep. Even with her eyes closed, she can tell when the text comes in. She has been waiting for the message.

_Foggy: Matt came to work today. No worries._

Claire sighs. No one really cares about a few cobwebs anyway. She might as well sleep in.


	7. 3 Months before the Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marci and Karen go shopping. An awkward adventure between the fiancé and the best friend gets off to a rough start, but Marci is determined to make this work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendship fluff

“I agree Foggy Bear,” says Marci as she reviews her brief again, “it was very sexist of the florist to assume you wouldn’t have very strong feelings on center pieces.”

“It is one thing to have nods to the season, but full gourd? Never go full gourd! This is a wedding not a child’s pumpkin picking event!”

“You did a great job explaining that.”

“And then to say marigolds! The woman has no cultural awareness. That flower is for Dia de los Muertos. Is she trying to be offensive?”

“It was a great learning opportunity for her babe,” Marci agrees. This isn’t right. There is definitely a paragraph missing. What first year associate has been messing with her work?

“Are you even paying attention?” Foggy asks petulantly. He’s got the white board out again and is attempting a formation where all the vegetarians and vegans sit together to make it easier for the waitstaff. It’s sweet, but she expects he will realize why that is a very stupid idea at approximately one a.m. and want to talk about it.

“Just a moment babe.”

She finds her original draft from yesterday and runs a quick comparison of the documents. The little fucker had gone to town.

“Marci, are you planning a murder?” asks Foggy.

“Yep,” Marci chirps. She copies the missing paragraph and does a quick scan to make sure nothing else essential is missing. Thankfully she had fixed the rest of it earlier. She saves the file and sends it off to her assistant. “Okay, Foggy, you have the next ten minutes of my undivided attention. What do you need me to sign-off on?”

Delighted, Foggy drags over his laptop. It’s adorable how much he has thrown himself into the planning. Marci had been content to just pay someone to take care of it but Foggy had wanted the wedding to be more “them” and have as much personality as a massive wedding could handle. Marci herself has only really bothered about the dress and her stylist. Who will possibly remember what the centerpieces look like or how many Carly Rae Jepson songs are played? But Marci wants those pictures to be perfect.

“These are your suit options. I want you to judge fairly and honestly. Just pick the one that flatters my figure. And remember that I have committed to salads for lunch for the next three months.”

Marci pinches him.

“I told you I love you the way you are.”

“Aw, Marci. That’s sweet. But this wedding is serious. If you wanted me to be myself you should have just agreed to get married in a courthouse.”

“Is it too late to change my mind?” asks Marci. Foggy glares at her.

“That isn’t funny. Take this seriously. Which suit works?”

Marci looks at the pictures. Somehow Foggy had even gotten Matt and Karen to go to the tailor and try on the different styles. The photos are cute, especially the candids of the three of them giggling at a gaudy green checked jacket that could only look good on a professional football player.

“Definitely no,” says Marci, flipping through. “Possibly, nice, good, burn it.” Marci stops and goes through all the photos again.

“Foggy Bear?”

“Yes Babe?”

“Karen’s not wearing a suit is she?” She bites down on the inside of her lip.

“Yeah,” says Foggy. “I mean, she is co-co-best person.” Marci looks at the picture of Foggy laughing at his two favorite people in the world.

“And Karen is bringing a date to the wedding?” Marci asks again.

“It’s weird calling The Punisher a date. Can we at least go with plus one?”

Marci hums and tips her head as she thinks. Yes, this might work. Or at least it certainly will not hurt.

“Go with the second suit in black with the silk lapels. And can you find my phone babe? I have no idea where I left it.” Foggy places a kiss on her cheek and heads into the bedroom.

Marci does a couple quick Google searches. When Foggy comes back she dials her bridal shop in midtown.

“This is Marci Stahl, I currently have a couple orders for an upcoming wedding. You wouldn’t happen to have any of the Jenny Packham’s left in coral would you? Hmm, well if you could set aside anything you have in that color. Anything over a size two will work. Yes, I understand.”

She hangs up and calls Foggy’s tailor and makes additional arrangements. That, Marci thinks, had been the easy part. Squaring her shoulders, she dials Karen Page.

“Karen, it’s Marci,” she says. Just in case Karen hasn’t saved her number.

“Marci,” Karen replies. The sound of wind whistles across the receiver and there are car horns in the background. “Is everything okay?”

“We need to meet. Are you free at 2 PM today?”

“Ah. Yeah. Yeah. I can be free. If it’s important?” Marci ignores the question.

“Perfect, I’ll text you the address.”

***

The first three dresses don’t work at all but the Adriana Iglesisias will be perfect with some tailoring. The sales assistant had been difficult since Marci and Karen didn’t have an appointment, but Marci really doesn’t need the whole “experience” anyway. The dress is just a concept at this stage. Marci has a vision. she hands over her credit card to the rude sales assistant.

“Marci, really,” Karen protests.

“Karen, trust me. We are constructing a look.”

They leave the shop and head uptown toward her own tailor who Marci has been seeing since her Bat Mitzvah. The jacket from the shop should have been couriered over by now. But they are running a little early. Even though it’s cool girl Karen, Marci thinks, adding a little indulgent flair to their afternoon might be fun.

“Let’s grab some treats,” says Marci. “There’s a Japanese chocolate shop on the corner and a liquor store on the way.”

Karen sighs and puts her hand on Marci’s arm.

“Marci, really. If you’d said this was about my suit... I’m sorry I didn’t ask you if menswear was okay. Foggy said you were pretty hands off and since I’m in the groom’s party…”

Marci looks up at the much taller woman. Karen has the softest looking hair, she thinks. Marci gets a blow-out every week but never gets close to Karen’s effortless perfection. Her work with a flat iron and a wand is incredible.

“Karen, I don’t have a problem with menswear. Well not generally. But pants are not your style.”

Karen pushes her hair behind her ear and crosses her arms. It’s sweltering out and there is a sheen on her pale shoulders. Marci can feel her own sweat sliding down her collar bone and between her breasts.

“Not my style?”

Marci rolls her eyes, takes Karen’s hand and marches them both into the chocolate shop where the air conditioning washes over them.

“Look, don’t get me wrong,” says Marci. “You have exactly the build to look great in menswear. But that really isn’t your style is it? I mean, do you even own pants? I’ve known you almost five years now and I am pretty sure half your wardrobe is pencil skirts and the other half is a curated collection of fitted dresses that look extremely expensive for a paralegal/reporter/investigator. Which,” Marci adds, “is a complement. I know many women who do much worse with much more.”

Still holding Karen’s hand, she walks them both over to the refrigerated chocolate section.

“Is champagne chocolate with actual champagne too much champagne?”

Marci hears Karen giggle. It’s light and girlish and sounds like the vision of Karen Foggy paints rather than the cool professional Karen with whom Marci interacts.

“I’m sorry. I thought, I thought you were having some sort of bridezilla meltdown.”

Marci frowns.

“I’m not a bridezilla.”

“I know I know,” says Karen, hand going to her mouth and her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“I really don’t care what you wear,” says Marci. “Find your own wedding dress if that’s what you want. I just thought…” she trails off. Marci hates feeling unsteady, feeling insecure. But it will mean so much to Foggy, she reminds herself, if she can be friendly with Karen and Matt. And of the two Karen is the slightly easier starting point. “Look, Foggy told me about your big date and I thought you might appreciate wearing something a little more you. A little more feminine.”

“Marci…”

“So do we go with brandy chocolates or is that the wrong flavor pallet for the afternoon?” asks Marci, pivoting back to the business at hand.

She startles as Karen’s arms go around her, hugging her. She raises her own hand, the one not holding the dress bag, and pats Karen’s back awkwardly. When Karen stands up again she is wiping carefully at her eyes, trying not to smudge the eyeliner. She still makes a mess of it.

“Thanks Marci,” says Karen. “Sincerely. Foggy and Matt aren’t thrilled with Frank coming, or the idea of Frank in general. I can’t really, I can’t really talk about him with anyone, you know. He’s not the kind of person you can just...talk about.”

Marci sighs.

“I have never known three people who love each other so much but are so bad at talking.” She says. Karen laughs, still a little watery.

“What the hell,” says Marci, keen to let Karen compose herself. “Let’s grab a box of the macha chocolates as well.”

“Yeah. Let’s go to town. But maybe we swap the champagne for scotch?” Karen offers, finally joining in.

“Why not,” shrugs Marci. “It’s been ages since I got drunk.”

***

They get very drunk at Belinda’s Alterations. The actual consultation is fairly quick and Karen warms to the concept quickly, making suggestions for the hemline and shortening the sleeves of the jacket. They plan to take enough fabric from the bottom of the skirt that detailing the jacket will be easy.

Once Karen has been fully measured, Belinda leaves them alone to their feast. An hour later Karen and Marci are still in the shop.

“You should just go home,” scolds Belinda. “You have a lovely home, or will if you visit my cousin.” Belinda had attended Marci and Foggy’s first Christmakah party last year and had been trying to convince Marci ever since that she needs to completely rethink the drape situation.

“Nope,” says Marci pouring a scotch for Belinda who has just finished with her last customer of the day. “If we go home Foggy will ask me about bouquets and tell me horror stories about Daphne, the world’s most evil florist.” She leans conspiratorially into Karen. “I’ve created a monster you know,” she whispers. “I have to have so many opinions.”

Karen giggles and Marci finds she isn’t quite sure how to sit back up. There are so many cushions on this couch. Why would anyone need so many cushions? When Marci had hired the interior designer for the condo she had come home one day to an explosion of cushions. Cushions were puzzling. Not just because the word cushion was weird. Why didn’t people just say pillow?

“Cushion.” says Marci.

“What?” asks Karen, biting down on the last of the chocolates.

“I said...we should get some food,” says Marci.

“Sounds good, what do you want?”

“Pizza.” When was the last time she ate Pizza? She’s a bad New Yorker. “And also grilled cheese.”

“Come on,” says Karen, helping them both to stand. “Belinda wants to go home. We can get food at my place.”

“And also cheesecake,” Marci adds, hungrier by the second.

“Okay drunk girl.”

The cab zips them west across the city in no time. “Mr. Brightside” by The Killers comes on the radio and Marci starts humming. To her delight, Karen starts singing along. Her voice isn’t great, but it’s better than Marci’s. Tentatively, Marci starts to sing too. One of Karen’s arm’s goes around her shoulder and they are suddenly crooning loudly and off-key over the sound of the Taxi TV. The cabbie looks miserable and Marci makes a note to leave a big tip. Marci knows she can be too much, but she does try to compensate people for putting up with her.

Karen’s apartment isn’t what she expects. For someone so feminine there is a pretty utilitarian feel to it. The bookshelf is a strong focal piece and tracks with her two years at _The Bulletin_. The cabinet doors in the kitchen are green which is also nice, but looks like something Karen inherited rather than anything she really worked at. In general the space has the haphazard feel of someone who has picked up most of their furniture off the street corner.

“Hmmm,” says Marci, non committedly.

“It’s actually a steal for this neighborhood. The benefits of working with do-gooder attorneys is they know when sublets open up in rent controlled buildings.”

“Sublet, that makes sense. No wonder there is a lack of Karen in the space,” Marci observes.

Karen cocks her head to the side and pours them both a glass of water.

“How do you do that?” asks Karen.

“What?” Marci flops into the comfortable chair. She wonders when the pizza is arriving.

“Have me so figured out?”

Marci shrugs.

“Foggy talks about you a lot. And I’m perceptive. My psychic says that’s one of my best traits.”

“You have a psychic?” Karen asks. Marci can hear the patented Karen Page judgemental skepticism in her voice.

“Yep. I started calling her in high school when my parents were off to see some tennis tournament or golf thing. They are really into sports. Anyway Sheila’s great and you’ll meet her at the wedding.” She waits for Karen to say something sappy, but they are both spared by the doorbell ringing. The first round of take-out is here.

“So tell me all about Frank,” commands Marci after her third piece of pizza. Karen sighs and Marci giggles. “Something worth looking at under all the Kevlar?”

Karen sets down her pizza and slumps in her chair so that her long legs are extended way out in front of her.

“Under all that Kevlar, Frank Castle is a really sweet man.”

Marci scoffs.

“He is. No one has ever held me so gently while at the same time acknowledging that I’m not fragile. I know what he does, and it isn’t that I condone it. But at the same time, I don’t know that I’ve ever known someone so honest. It’s brutal but, I don’t know. When he’s not in my life I feel like I’ve lost something really important.”

“It’s easy to be judgemental,” says Marci, reaching for the fries. She isn’t even hungry but something in her urgently wants ketchup. “But life is complicated. It’s much more interesting to just make room for people. Even the difficult ones.”

“Yeah,” says Karen. “I think you’re right.”

“You bet your ass I am.” Marci, suddenly dizzy, heads toward the bathroom. “Can you text Foggy and tell him where I am? I don’t remember where my phone is.”

_KP: Your fiancé is so drunk right now._  
_FN: What have you done to Marci!_  
_KP: Just letting you know we are very much in love and have decided to elope to Bora Bora._  
_FN: Bring her home before she pukes all over your bathroom._  
_KP: Too late. Bring coffee and bagels tomorrow. We are going to be very hung over._


	8. 1 Day before the Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire and Jessica go on a road trip!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know those times when you realize you've both slept with the same man...

The car Jessica has procured is a 1992 baby blue Crown Vic. Claire feels like she’s steering the Titanic through a sea of icebergs. The damn car is so wide. Not to mention she feels like a cop. Her knuckles are white and her coffee is untouched in the cupholder because she is too scared to drink it. The rush hour traffic moving Northwest is no joke. She wishes Jessica had been at her place at 5 A.M as they had agreed, but here they are at 2 P.M. on a Friday trying to flee the city. 

Jessica, annoyingly, doesn’t share her fear of their impending death. She’s dropped her seat so far back that she’s nearly laying flat and her Doc Martin boots are on top of the glove department. Purple shadows lurk under Jessica’s closed eyes. Not that Claire is looking at her right now because the jackass who does not believe in zippering is about to clip the right corner of this dubiously procured vehicle. She slams her hand on the horn to let the asshole know to back up. 

Out of the corner of her eye she can see Jessica sit up and reach for the radio. Claire slaps her hand down.

“Not until we’re past Newark.”

“Shit, Claire.”

“You don’t like it, you drive.”

“Yeah, I don’t drive.” That explains why Malcolm had dropped Jessica and the car off this afternoon, almost nine hours late. 

Jessica reaches back into what is definitely a garbage bag and pulls out a beer. Claire could scream. How did she think this was better than traveling with Danny, who could have arranged a driver for the three of them. She could be in the back of a party SUV watching movies with Colleen. 

“So I hear Danny’s back from a new mystical quest,” says Jessica. Claire sighs. Right, that is why she hadn’t wanted to travel with Danny. 

“Apparently it was deeply spiritual and he feels centered with the Chi of all living things. Or something. It’s really made him think about the environment,” says Claire. 

“Kill me,” says Jessica. 

Truthfully Claire feels the same. It is not that Danny’s wrong. Climate change is real and they are probably all going to die in a superstorm or starve because of food insecurity. It is just that in typical Danny fashion he is late to the game and has jumped deep into the movement without any sort of understanding of the people who did the work before him or the ways big problems affect communities differently. He is eager to learn, but he is also exhausting.

They are through The Holland Tunnel and while the traffic is still intense, it is mostly moving now. Maybe Claire can dare a sip of coffee. Jessica reaches for the radio again and this time Claire does not stop her. Flicking through the dials Jessica stops on a station playing nineties pop punk. It is not Claire’s kind of thing, but she lets it go for now. They can fight about stations once they start cruising through farm country.

Claire is just about to turn off Google Maps since they are through the confusing section when a call comes in. She swipes to answer and puts the phone on speaker. Jessica turns off the radio. 

“Claire?” says Colleen. There’s a bit of a tremor in her voice. 

“Hey,” says Claire, keeping her eyes on the road and sliding into the right lane so the tailgating asshole can go around her. “Everything okay?” The man honks his horn at Claire as he whips past.

“Where are you?” asks Colleen. 

“Nearly to Newark. It should be about four more hours. Are you already at the Inn?”

The line is so silent Claire thinks she must have lost signal.

“Colleen?”

“I’m not going to be there,” says Colleen, the words coming in a rush. “Danny and I broke up.”

“WHAT!” Exclaims Jessica. 

“Who’s that?” demands Collen.

“You finally dumped Danny!” Jessica continues to yell as Claire says “Jessica, we’re driving up together.”

“Did you wake up today and realize you couldn’t date a man with a tattoo that stupid looking?” asks Jessica.

“Hi Jessica,” says Colleen. “Forgot you two were travel buddies.”

“If you want me to call you later...” Claire offers.

“Fuck it,” comes the voice from across the line. “You’ll hear all about it from Danny I’m sure. Misty and I are sleeping together.”

“Dammnnnnn,” says Jessica. “Misty! Really!”

Claire finds her own jaw has come unhinged. She knew Colleen and Misty had gotten really close. They had been pretty inseparable for those months Danny had been away on Iron Fist, or lack there of, business. She looks over at Jessica and is relieved that the private investigator seems as astonished as she is. 

“When Danny left, I didn’t know what the deal was, with us, or him. Misty and I started spending more time together and stuff happened. We didn’t put a label on it, and when Danny came back I thought it was worth trying to pick up where we left off. But…”

“Then you realized your standards had changed,” Jessica finishes for her. “Way to go. Why aren’t you coming to this dumb thing so we have something to celebrate.”

“We are literally going to a celebration,” interjects Claire, rolling her eyes. 

“Since I left him, and technically cheated on him, I figured I should bow out,” Colleen explains. “Anyway I’m sorry Claire. I know I practically forced you to come. But hey, you and Jessica will have a great time.” Claire is not filled with confidence. 

“You couldn’t have waited one more week?” Claire sighs. 

“She could not,” Jessica rebutts. “Congrats Colleen. Enjoy yourself this weekend. Someone should get to.”

With a few more apologies to Claire and some additional speculation by Jessica on how much Colleen’s sex life must have improved, they end the call. 

“Shit,” mutters Claire. “Why the hell am I even going to this thing? I could have just sent Foggy and Marci a new juicer and slept in this weekend. Maybe ordered take out.”

Jessica pulls her seat up so she’s no longer reclined and grabs a bag of already opened pretzels from her ominous trash bag. She offers them to Claire who shrugs and goes for it. She enjoys the crunch. 

“How did we wind up with one of those incestuous sitcom friend groups?” asks Jessica between bites of pretzel. “I’m happy for the kid. Misty’s decent for a cop. But if we diagramed the relationships at this wedding you gotta admit it looks like we don’t know how to meet people.”

Claire laughs.

“So what are you planning on doing about Luke?” asks Jessica. 

This, Claire supposes, is what makes Jessica a good investigator. She’s not afraid to walk head first into an awkward situation and start picking at scabs.

“Nothing,” Claire offers at last. She’s been thinking about this very question for months. 

“You sure?” 

Claire takes her exit and starts heading up I-80 W. Her hand reaches for her purse. There is a toll coming up and this car for sure doesn’t have EZ Pass. They move into the cash lane in silence. Once they pass through and are on their way, Claire tries to relax her shoulders. She has about an hour on this road. 

“Luke, I have accepted, Is not the person I thought he was.”

“You think he’s changed?” Jessica probes. 

“I thought so.” Claire sighs. “But maybe not. Maybe I just saw the version of Luke I wanted to see. I mean, when you meet Black Superman a girl gets expectations. 

“But he’s not a Boy Scout.”

“No,” agrees Claire. 

“What about Matt?” asks Jessica, opening another beer. 

Claire snaps her head to stare at her before quickly returning her eyes to the road. 

“I knew it,” Jessica preens. “I knew there was something weird there. So what is it? You knew Foggy way back when Murdock was just a weirdo in a scarf. You introduced Luke to Danny when things started getting stupid but not Matt.” Jessica Jones, Claire thinks, is a nightmare.

“I used to stitch Matt up,” admits Claire. “Back when I lived in Hell’s Kitchen.”

Jessica chuckles as if Claire just told a joke.

“What?” Claire groans, rolling her eyes toward the passenger seat.

“It’s just, you think you're looking for a nice boy when clearly you’re some sort of adrenaline junkie.”

“I just told you my dream plan was to go home and sleep all day.”

“Let’s face facts, you trained as an ER nurse. You could have done something like kids or old people but no, you specialized in long hours and crazy shit. You only left that to help out vigilantes and now you work in some sort of hybrid space where you still do bullets and stabbings but you also pass tips on to assholes like me. You would be bored to tears with a boy who was nice to his mother and said his prayers at night, unless that man also likes to play dress up and break peoples faces.”

“Well what about you,” Claire interjects, because it is rich that Jessica Jones gets to call out her decisions. 

“When your standards are as low as mine are, there’s bound to be some crossover.” Jessica smirks at Claire. “But never Murdock. He’s a headcase.”

Claire laughs. It feels surprisingly nice. They drive on for a while just listening to the radio. Eventually the station fades to static and Claire is able to wrestle control and finds some reggaeton. She doesn’t anticipate the station will make it much farther north, but she’ll take it while it lasts. More and more farms are appearing. The leaves on the trees have started to change. Bright bursts of red and gold flash by the window and the sky is a lovely deep blue as the sun begins to sink toward the horizon. If they are lucky they will get to the vineyard just before the sun sets. 

“So,” says Jessica, “are you planning to hook up with anyone at this wedding?” Claire frowns.

“Jessica I like you, but I thought it was clear we were here as friends.”

“Damn,” says Jessica. But her voice is flat enough that Claire’s sixty-five percent sure she’s joking. “We’re sharing a room so I thought I’d better figure out what your deal was. See if there was a chance of you and Luke reconnecting. I’ll figure something out if you need the room.”

“This is going to be a fucking weird weekend,” says Claire. 

“Yep,” agrees Jessica.

“And for the record, if you need to hook up, don’t bring them back to our room,” says Claire. “I want my escape option available at all times.”

“Noted.”

The reggaeton channel also turns to fuzz and Jessica grabs the tuner first. She stops at an oldies rock station which is playing “Hotel California” by the Eagles. 

“So,” says Claire, trying to be casual because unlike Jessica she has some tact, “how’s it working out with Malcolm?”

Jessica grunts. 

“Is he a good investigator?” Claire tries again. 

“He’s fine. Ambitious. But he’s decent I guess. And it helps to split the case load.”

“I liked him,” Claire offers. “He seemed trustworthy.”

Jessica sips her beer and stares out the window. 

“Fucking trees. It’s like we’re driving into a Stephen King novel.”

Fine, thinks Claire. If there is one time to ask awkward questions it is in the car because the other person is trapped and also you do not have to make eye contact.

“Have you talked to Trish at all?”

From the corner of her eye she can see Jessica adjust her feet on the dashboard and yank at the seat belt (which Claire had insisted she wear). 

Claire gives up. She looks at the map on her phone to see if there is a good spot coming up for a bathroom break.

“Not yet,” Jessica says, her voice rough. Glancing sideways, Claire can see Jessica’s hands are shoved awkwardly into the pockets of her coat and her shoulders are raised defensively. “She sent me a letter. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?”

“Did you read it?” Claire asks after a moment.

“Yeah...eventually.” Jessica clearly does not have anything else to say and Claire suspects her advice would be unwelcome.

“It’s been a bad year,” Claire offers as a way to end the conversation. 

“Sure has.”

“Good thing Foggy has promised an open bar all weekend,” Claire offers.

“And with the Jameson I plan on relocating to Big Blue’s trunk, I should save about 200 bucks this month,” Jessica smirks.

“Now I know why you went for this boat of a car.”

Claire sees a sign for a McDonald’s and turns on her blinker, ready for a break and a stretch.  
When Claire comes back to the car, Jessica is on the phone. Her hand is in her hair and she looks perturbed. 

“What was that about?” asks Claire. 

“A case.” Jessica still looks far away. “How much longer?”

“About an hour,” says Claire after consulting the map on her phone.

“Hmmm.”

“Is something wrong?” Jessica is tense in a way she hadn’t been before. She suddenly looks less homeless and more like the PI she is. 

“Maybe. I need to talk to Luke. Maybe even Danny.”

Claire bites her lip and checks her phone again, as if she can collapse the distance by double checking. 

“What are we talking about?”

“Not ninjas, I promise. Probably just some run of the mill white collar crime. But it would be helpful to tap their networks.”

Claire nods. 

“I’ll try to hurry.”


	9. The Night before the Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding is tomorrow and all of Foggy's messy, weird, quasi-incestuous friend group are all under one roof in the middle of nowhere. Jessica and Luke check in about work. Matt goes to the rehearsal dinner and decides what he wants to do about Claire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot is threatening, but Foggy's friends are a little hung up on their unresolved sexual tension.

Jessica scans The Vineyard Inn’s bar. The place has the vibe of an English country home. There is a lot of upholstered leather and a fireplace with a bunch of high backed chairs around it. There are a couple other couch and chair combinations in the room, usually arranged in front of large paintings of birds, deer, or dogs. The antlers of a couple Bambis hang off the walls. It’s fucking creepy. What is more bizarre is how at ease Luke looks in this aristocratic hellscape.

Luke is sitting on a stool in the corner with what might be a martini. He is still huge, but with the high ceilings and and the low intimate lighting he blends into the room like a particularly stately piece of furniture. Part of it is the suit, Jessica thinks. She hates it.

Jessica had asked Claire if Luke had changed. She has been wrestling with the same question. Over a year ago when he had come to offer advice about Trish he had still seemed like Luke, just sporting a new look. Tonight though, he appears nothing like the man who used to run a divey, if immaculately clean, bar. Now the fastidiousness comes off slightly menacing. Still, fuck it.

There’s a petite blonde who Jessica assumes must be a Marci guest trying to make conversation with Luke. Jessica steps in between them and calls the bartender.

“Jameson.”

“Excuse me!” spluters the girl.

“Hey Luke,” says Jessica, ignoring her. “This girl giving you problems?”

Luke chuckles and the deep laugh has Jessica in twists. She is a bit surprised by that; it has been a long time after all. But Claire had made points about Black Superman.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” says Luke back, and he winks at Blondie who goes red all over.

“Charming,” Jessica grouses. “We need to talk.”

Luke nods and picks up his glass to follow Jessica out of the bar. Blondie looks pissed. Jessica wonders idly if Luke had been serious about her. She doesn’t really seem his type.

There’s a library in the room next door with a pool table. Thankfully no one is there. Jessica shuts the door and then shoves a chair under the antique door handle for good measure. Having satisfied that they will be warned if anyone tries to enter, Jessica hops up to sit on the pool table. Luke winces.

“That’s really not good for the table,” he remonstrates.

“And I couldn’t give less of a fuck.”

To her surprise Luke walks over, picks her up and sets her on a low couch. It happens so fast and she is in such shock she does not even fight him. He hands her the glass of whiskey she had left on the edge of the table.

“Humor me,” he says. “It would be better if we don’t draw attention to ourselves by getting into it with the management.

“Next time you pick me up, I twist your balls off,” warns Jessica.

Luke raises his hands in apology and pulls his chair up across from her so their knees are touching. Jessica wills herself to settle down.

“I need to know who in the Planning Department is on the take,” says Jessica.

Luke’s eyebrows go up.

“You think anyone in the DCP isn’t corrupt?”

“Obviously not,” says Jessica, “but I’m looking for ties to the Bratva.”

‘The Russians?” muses Luke. “That sounds a bit big for you.”

“No shit,” Jessica sighs. “I didn’t get involved on purpose.”

Luke grins again. It is a smile that suggests he thinks more highly of Jessica than he should.

“We had some trouble with them a few months back. They were trying to expand out of Hell’s Kitchen and lock in some new real estate after their stand-off with the Punisher last winter. We dissuaded them.”

“So they’re not your supplier?” asks Jessica. Luke leans in, he face serious.

“You know I’m not telling you that.”

Unable to resist, Jessica lets her own face drift close.

“You’re different now. And I don’t think it’s just the lack of hoodie,” she states.

“Maybe,” Luke sighs. “Maybe I needed to change. If the entire system is corrupt, it means it’s time to build something new instead of just accepting the roles we’re given.”

“Whatever.” She doesn’t have time for philosophy right now. Or ever, actually. Jessica’s whiskey is gone. Luke reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a flask and hands it over.

“Do you have the name?”

“Maxwell Glenn,” says Luke. It is interesting that he does not need to think about it.

Jessica nods. It confirms what she has been suspecting.

“I heard a rumor recently,” says Luke. He’s still very close and she can feel the pressure of his gaze on her.

“I think I may have heard something similar.”

“Do you have a plan?” he asks, resting his hand on her shoulder.

“I’m here aren’t I,” says Jessica.

“Me too,” says Luke. “Maybe we better compare plans.”

There’s a crash at the door as the chair goes over. Jessica springs to her feet only to see Danny Rand in a tailored suit, the weird yellow glow of his hand fading.

“So much for not drawing attention,” Jessica mutters.

“God almighty,” says Luke. “I texted him to come over when I saw you walk in. I assumed he’d knock.”

“Eh,” says Jessica. “He’s had a bad day.” She flops back down on the couch. “Well you’re in now loser,” she calls to Danny. “Come tell us all about Rand Real Estate Development.”

“Sorry,” mutters Danny contritely. “That was an irresponsible thing to do. I’ll talk to the manager. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Course not,” sighs Jessica.

“I just, Colleen, she…”

“Argh!” Jessica yells. “This is not the time. You can tell Luke all about Colleen and Misty later, after I am so far away even Murdock couldn’t hear the conversation. But for now, I need you to remember that you run a gigantic multinational business.”

“What about Colleen and Misty?” asks Luke, extremely confused.

“Later!” yells Jessica.

***

Matt is miserable but he is trying like hell not to show it. It is not the rehearsal dinner’s fault. Everyone is getting along and in fact Foggy and Marci’s parents might have finally found common ground in their mutual anxiety over grandchildren. They’ve gone from talking about Marci freezing her eggs to hypothesizing Foggy’s sperm count remarkably quickly.

The full Nelson clan and the New York Stahls have taken over the tasting room at the vineyard. In the corner, a jazz pianist is trying to set a classy mood even as some Nelsons are singing the University of Michigan fight song. Matt has no idea why.

But none of that accounts for his misery. In all his worst case scenario planning for this weekend, Matt had neglected to think about the fact that once outside of New York’s steel and concrete jungle, he might have issues with all the real nature.

“I think it’s the pine trees,” says Karen, passing him another tissue from her purse. “They used to drive my mom crazy in Vermont.”

“Is that what’s burning in the fireplace,” Matt asks. And can’t believe he has to ask.

“Maybe,” replies Karen. “I could check with someone on the catering crew.”

“Whatever smoke that is, it’s definitely not helping.” Matt rubs at his eyes whose burning he finds particularly offensive. If the stupid things are going to be useless they should at least not be actively annoying. He grabs his glass and downs it only to realize he had grabbed champagne not water. Everything is off. At least the bubbles provide some momentary relief from the scratchiness at the back of his throat.

“Do you think I can leave?” he whispers. Karen takes his hand, but it is not supportive. She is pinning him down.

“Not until the announcement,” says Karen. “Otherwise Foggy will think you’re mad at him.”

A knife clinks brightly against a glass. The piano stops. A few seconds later Theo yells “SHUT UP,” and the room goes quiet in anticipation.

Marci is standing up and Matt can hear her pulse quicken. Foggy is next to her and his heart is also jumpy with nerves. Normally, Matt would probably smell the sweat, but his nose is a mess.

“Thank you everyone,” says Marci to the room. “I want to thank all of you again for being here. It really wouldn’t be our special day without all of you celebrating with us. Before I let you go and get some sleep--”

“Or add more to our liquor tab,” Matt hears Foggy mutter.

“--I wanted to share with you some very special news. And it’s coming from me so none of you can accuse my Foggy Bear of trying to steal my moment. Monday morning the District Attorney of Manhattan,” Marci gestures to Blake Tower who is sitting with Marci’s bridesmaids, “will be announcing a new taskforce for Construction and Development which will specialize in long term investigations into fraud and corruption in the real estate and construction industries. And my husband--or he will be by Monday--will be leading the task force as Manhattan’s new Assistant District Attorney! I am just so proud of Foggy, and so happy to be starting my life with someone who is committed to taking care of our community!”

Applause breaks out across the room and Nelsons yell slainte! Foggy kisses Marci on the cheek and the applause transforms into lewd hoots.

“Thanks everyone,” says Foggy. “I just want to reiterate everything Marci said about how much you all mean to me. And I am so happy to have had your support personally and professionally all these years. I’d like to particularly thank Matt and Karen on that front. I know I’m leaving the firm--for now at least--but we’re still all fighting the good fight together, and I sleep better knowing you will be out there, defending the city.”

Matt is sure that last bit had been just for him. He swallows hard.

“And of course my parents and brother…” continues Foggy diplomatically. The dust up over not including Theo originally as a co-co-best person is still a touchy subject. The short speech ends up going another fifteen minutes as Foggy and Marci share personal messages of thanks to almost everyone in the room.

Matt can hear the bride and groom’s parents now animatedly discussing the rumor that Blake will be announcing his run for Attorney General early next spring and Foggy’s will likely announce his campaign for DA at the same time. By then, the six months he’ll have spent going after white collar crime, racketeering, and public corruption will have given Foggy all the bonafides he needs to get an official shot at the Democratic nomination. Foggy’s mother is beside herself when Mrs. Stahl says “Franklin has it in him to make it all the way to the White House.”

“I always wanted him to be a butcher,” replies Anna Nelson, bemused.

At last Foggy comes over and sits down with a sigh next to Matt. One arm drapes over Matt’s shoulder while his other reaches for Matt’s scotch.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” warns Karen. “Matt’s dripped all over that.”

“Gross, what’s going on with you Matty?”

“It’s nothing,” says Matt even as Karen says, “He has hayfever!” The amount of glee in her voice is hurtful.

“You get hayfever?” Foggy sounds doubtful.

“Apparently,” Matt admits, since clearly Karen does not have his back on this.

“Weird,” muses Foggy. “Are you okay to, I don’t know, walk.”

“My sinuses are wrecked, not my legs.” Matt retorts, a little too harshly.

“He’s very touchy about it,” Karen says, giving him a sarcastic rub on the shoulder.

“Apparently.” Foggy grabs Karen’s drink instead. “I’m dying to get out of these shoes,” whines Foggy. “These things were not designed for real feet.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” mocks Karen, “I wonder how that could possibly feel.”

“You’re in a mood,” notes Foggy.

“Thank you!” Matt agrees.

“What, I’m not. I’m having a great time,” says Karen, crossing her arms in a way that does not suggest a “great time.”

There’s a scratch as Marci pulls up a chair and carefully lowers herself into it. She’s wearing a tight silk dress and Matt can hear the fabric strain as she sits. Even with his messed up nose he can smell her perfume and hairspray. He sneezes and grabs at the tissue Karen had given him.

“Don’t worry Kare,” says Marci sweetly. “He’ll be here tomorrow. He probably thought that the rehearsal dinner was a bit intimate.”

Marci drops her head on Karen’s bare shoulder. The two of them have been very affectionate all day. It had struck Matt forcibly for the first time that he has never seen Karen with a woman friend. He’s happy for Karen, but it does make Matt feel more like the odd man out.

“You think he’ll really come?” asks Foggy in a whisper. Matt doesn’t, but he would rather not say that to Karen. Instead he shrugs.

“Guess we’ll see,” says Foggy. “Alright everyone, Marci and I need to go get some sleep. If we don’t leave now they are never going to let us go.” He pushes back his chair loudly and extends a hand to Marci.

“Did you finally convince your mom that you wouldn’t curse the wedding if you stayed in the same room tonight?” asks Karen.

“Nope,” says Marci, allowing Foggy to pull her up, “but if we run now she’ll never catch us. If she asks, I’m staying with you tonight.”

Karen smiles and Matt can feel her pleased blush at being singled out as Marci’s alibi. This new friendship clearly means a lot to Karen.

“I better go with you then to keep up the act,” says Karen. “Coming with Matt? Or do you think you can make it back to the inn on your own?”

“It is a light sniffle! I’ll live.”

“If you say so,” says Foggy, before grasping Matt in a huge bear hug. “See you tomorrow buddy! I’m getting married!”

“You sure are.”

Foggy, Marci, and Karen walk off waving generally to the room as they avoid various family members calling to them from the crowd. Matt wonders why he doesn’t walk with them. He’s also going to the inn. But it’s been a long day, and he really has to work on his speech. Originally each of the co-co-best persons had been tasked with giving a speech, but Karen had bowed out saying that she had already done her duty planning the bachelor party. Then Theo had bailed on account of not liking public speaking and his belief that speeches are what lawyers are for anyway.

Matt feels the pressure of this toast in a way he hasn’t during innumerable appearances in court. It’s one thing to talk about your clients or grill strangers, but telling 300 people that Foggy Nelson is his favorite person on earth is a lot. Matt grabs his cane and heads out a side door. One of Marci’s cousins moves in his direction like she wants to intercept him, but Matt is not in the mood. Maybe tomorrow, if everything goes okay.

He pauses outside the door and listens attentively, trying to map the landscape. Wind whistles through rows of grape vines. He can faintly hear the soft rolling of the lake in the distance. Cars are pulling out of the stone driveway and heading back toward the houses they’ve all rented for the weekend. The pianist is inspecting his tip jar. Everything seems in order.

The inn is a little over a half miles’ walk from the tasting room. Foggy, Karen, and Marci had driven back. Matt is sure he could get a ride with Theo, but he decides to walk. The breeze, a bit cutting as it comes off the water, carries with it some familiar voices.

“Do you regret it?” he hears Jessica Jones say.

“Just disappointed,” Luke murmurs, “Sometimes you have to give up on things, even when you really want them.”

The wind switches direction and the rest of the conversion is lost. Probably for the best, Matt thinks, that had not been a conversation he had any right to. He thinks of Claire and wonders if she is also thinking about Luke right now.

It is still entirely unfair of Matt to want to punch Luke Cage in the jaw. And Matt is fully aware he is a hypocrite, but if Luke had not been willing to make it work with Claire why had they even started in the first place?

It is as if thinking of Claire makes her appear. But that is not really true because Matt has been straining for some sign of Claire since he first heard Luke’s voice and now he has located her. She is sitting on a wooden chair about 100 feet from the firepit looking out at the lake. Or she would be, but given the darkness, maybe she can’t even see it cold and heaving at the bottom of the hill. She is talking to someone who is not there, her mother over the phone. He hears her say goodnight.

If he sees Claire tonight it will not be a coincidence; it will be a choice. Just like it had been a choice to keep his distance when The Hand had threatened New York. When they had purposefully avoided each other, even within the small space of the precinct. But things are different now, Matt thinks and wants to believe. He does not need to give Claire space to be with her new boyfriend. And he is no longer crippled by the knowledge that a girl he cares about had lost a friend and colleague because of him. The guilt is there of course, but he does not feel condemned by it. Matt is trying hard to believe that everything awful in the world is not, somehow, his responsibility. Foggy has made clear that kind of thinking is borderline narcissistic. And most of all, Matt is trying to maintain the few friendships he has left.

In no time, Matt is standing behind her. He had not tried to sneak up, but Claire must have been lost in thought because she startles when she notices him. Her hand clutches at the afghan she has draped across her waist.

“It’s me,” says Matt apologetically.

“Didn’t recognize you in the suit,” she says, and Matt thinks he hears a smile in her voice. “I was afraid you were one of the finance bros.”

“Worse, a lawyer.” It’s a pretty bad joke, but Matt’s scrambling. There’s an adirondack chair next to Claire’s and he puts his hand on top of it.

“Do you mind?”

“Please yourself,” she replies. Matt winces feeling the slight heat in her phrase. He powers through and sits down. There is another afghan folded in the chair and he gratefully sets it on his lap. The light leather jacket he had worn while the sun was out is not quite up to sitting in the darkness.

“I heard you’re working at a clinic Danny opened.” He tries.

“I heard you were back from the dead.” The warmth he had intuited from Claire a moment ago has vanished. But he is sitting now, and he definitely deserves this awful conversation.

“When Fisk came back, I should have called,” Matt admits. “I...I wasn’t okay for a while.”

“You were hurt?” it’s a question but then, it is also not. A building had fallen on him after all.

“When Father Lantom found me I was in bad shape,” Matt begins. “He was a priest at Saint Agnes.” Claire’s body has pivoted toward him and she is no longer resolutely staring out at the lake. “But it wasn’t just that I was injured, I was a bit...broken.” Matt does not know where to go from there. What does she need to know? How much had Foggy told her when he had gone on his Brooklyn runs and come into the office the next day smelling like hospital, gin, grease, and vanilla?

“I heard about Father Lantom in the news,” says Claire. “I didn’t know you knew him.”

Matt nods. There is a fringe on the edge of the afghan. He begins untwisting one of the strings of yarn between his fingers

“Knew him since I was a kid. He was my teacher once I moved to the orphanage.”

“Orphanage?” asks Claire. He can hear the pity in her voice. He feels like swearing. He doesn’t want Claire to forgive him because she feels bad that he has had a shity life. He does not want this to be about making excuses.

“After my dad died,” says Matt, a little shortly. He’s trying. He really is. Claire seems to sense that.

“Are you...unbroken now?” asks Claire. Matt laughs a little meanly.

“Probably not. But I’m, ah talking to someone. And now that Foggy and Karen both know and have made at least a little peace with what I do, life is working better.”

“That’s good Matt.” says Claire. There’s a long pause. “Matt, are you crying?”

“Shit!” groans Matt. “My sinuses are a goddamn mess.”

Claire reaches across the space and suddenly the back of her hand is on his forehead. Her skin is warm and soft and the vanilla lotion cuts through the miserable congestion and in that moment he can see her glowing warmly in the cold night.

“It’s hard to tell because it’s so cold out, but I don’t think you have a fever.”

“It’s these fucking trees,” says Matt. “The pollen is killing me.”

“It’s too bad Jessica thinks you’re a headcase, you two would be perfect together,” Claire grins. Matt has no idea what Jessica has to do with any of this, but he feels a bit offended.

“Well she’d know about headcases I guess.”

Claire reaches into her purse and puts a small pack of tissues in Matt’s hand. He takes it gratefully and then gracelessly blows his nose. His ears ring with the awful noise of it.

“Come on,” says Claire, standing up. “I have antihistamines in my room.” She holds out her hand to help him out of his chair and then he hears her tense. Before she can lower her arm, he reaches up and takes her hand, shivering when her warm palm slides against his own. He can hear Claire’s heart thud loudly in her chest and the sound almost overwhelms him. Claire drops his hand as soon as he stands up, and slowly starts walking across the grass toward the inn which is buzzing with electricity. He imagines it must be glowing in the darkness. He can hear bits and pieces of the conversations going on around the firepit and inside the lounge, but he tunes them out so he can focus on Claire. He catches up so that they are side by side and his cane swings out in front of them. Matt thinks about taking her arm so she can “guide him,” but does not quite dare.

When they walk into the lobby, Matt briefly hears Luke’s voice at the bar and the sound of Jessica laughing. Danny is there too, though he sounds a little off somehow. Claire must see Luke because she pivots in the other direction of the staircase rather than the old elevator. They climb the stairs in silence and Matt tries not to fixate on the fact that they are going back to her room.

Claire pulls a skeleton key out of the pocket of her hoodie and slides it into the door.

“Jessica?” she calls. But Matt knows the room is empty.

“She’s down at the bar making fun of Danny,” says Matt. He pauses. “Did Colleen dump Danny for Misty?”

Claire chuckles and holds the door open for him.

“I forgot how creepy it is when you do that,” Claire comments, but she doesn’t sound annoyed.

He walks inside. The ceilings are high and there is a door leading out to a balcony in front of him. The wind is whistling around the window and causing a slight draft which is fluttering the curtains.

“We’re all in shock,” says Claire, and Matt realizes she’s gone back to their earlier conversation. “Most of all Danny. I’ve been avoiding him.”

Matt is pretty sure it is not just Danny Claire is avoiding. Claire goes to her suitcase and pulls out a giant bag of medical supplies.

“Are you a girl scout?” he asks as she rummages for the bottle she’s looking for. There are bandages, stitches, and an assortment of tools, as well as a large variety of pills.

“Yes actually,” says Claire. “All the way through Cadets. I got my Silver Award for organizing a supply drive for a women’s shelter in Harlem and lobbying the city to expand the funding available for domestic violence services.”

Matt is impressed.

“How old were you?”

“15,” says Claire.

Matt thinks of himself at 15, he had been training to hit people, to hurt people. And just a few stops uptown Claire was figuring out how to make sure people were safe from violence.

“Come here,” Claire orders. She puts a tiny pill in his hand and then hands him a bottle of water.

“Will this make me drowsy?” Matt asks skeptically. He can not afford to be out of commission tonight.

“No. It’s just going to dry you out and help with the itching.”

Matt swallows.

“Now squirt this up your nose,” Claire hands him a little bottle with a weird tube at the top. He awkwardly wraps his hand around it trying to figure out how to squeeze it.

“Oh come here,” Claire commands. She taps the bed next to her and Matt sits down. Her hand goes to the side of his head and he’s struck by how nice that still feels. Then the plastic is up his nose and the salty liquid shoots up his nostril.

“Sniff that up there.” says Claire. Matt is glad Jessica is still downstairs and not overhearing this conversation.

“Other side.”

Matt blinks hard and shakes his head to try to rid his nose of the awkward sensation. He feels Claire’s thumb gently stroke his temple before she reaches for the cap and starts to pack up.

“That might take a couple hours to kick in. If you find me at the wedding tomorrow you can do another dose. The pill should last 24 hours.”

“Thank you, I think,” says Matt. He can taste whatever that stuff is running down the back of his itchy throat.

“Don’t be a baby, we both know you’ve had worse.” She’s about to put the bag away when she pauses. “While I have this out, do you have anything else I should see?”

Matt struggles to think of something, anything. He is just short of desperate to feel her hands run over him again. But he had tried really hard the last week to keep his nocturnal activities to purely reconnaissance so that he would not show up to the wedding with a broken nose.

“I’m okay,” he says reluctantly.

“Actually okay or Matt okay?” She’s hovering in front of him. Tentatively he reaches out and takes her hand.

“Really okay. Thanks for allergy meds.” He can feel her heart rate increase. He wonders what he should do next. He takes a breath preparing himself for what he wants to say and then winces.

“What is it?” asks Claire.

The door slams open and Jessica stumbles into the room smelling strongly of Jameson.

“Claire, do you have Karen’s number I need…” Jessica trails off as she sees them. “Hello Matty,” she coos. Fancy finding you here in this bedroom.”

“Hi Jess,” says Matt. “You need Karen?”

“Actually I was looking for you and it turns out my instincts are better than even I realized.”

“I was just hooking him up with some antihistamines,” sighs Claire, and Matt is a little disappointed at this very accurate statement of facts.

“A hook up, yes I see,” says Jessica who seems to have turned into a thirteen-year old girl. “Well, normally I’d let you junkies get your fixes but this actually can’t wait. We need you downstairs Matty. Claire, you’re welcome to come too.”

“No,” says Claire. “I think I’m done for the day. Go have your little vigilante jam sesh.”

“I,” interjects Jessica, “am a totally legit PI. It’s the rest of these weirdos who wanna be heroes.”

“Goodnight Jessica,” Claire tells her and waves toward the door.

Jessica wiggles her fingers in some sort of sarcastic drunk wave.

“See you at the bar Matty.”

Matt stands up, reluctant to leave. He is already starting to feel better. He can smell the detergent used to clean the sheets on the bed. The smell of jasmine is coming from the bathroom and Claire herself feels more present. He wants to pick up where they left off, but Claire has moved to lean against the side of the doorframe. Her arms are crossed.

“Night Matt,” says Claire. Taking the hint, Matt stands and picks up his cane.

“Goodnight Claire.

The door closes behind him and he can hear Claire inhale deeply, her arms falling to her thighs as she slides her back down against the wall. Her heart is still elevated, but he can’t tell what that means. His mouth twists ruefully as he heads toward the stairs.

“Ran into Matty,” he hears Jessica say, and is grateful that for all her teasing she does not say where. Claire probably would not be thrilled for Luke to know. “And if he can hear me he should know we’d appreciate a little hustle.”

Sighing, Matt heads toward the bar.

***

It is nearly 3 a.m. and Danny and Matt have gone back to their rooms. Jessica and Luke are sitting on the couch and Jessica is leaning back so she can see the poor deer’s head hanging above her.

“People are disgusting,” says Jessica. “This should be a crime.”

Luke grunts in agreement. Luke had put the Jameson away and Jessica is not quite sure what she should do with her hands. Sitting next to Luke in the dark like this she feels restless, and a little guilty. Although, she admits, she feels way less guilty after seeing Claire with Matt. She chuckles.

“What is it?” asks Luke. Shit. The guilt is back.

“Just thinking about Danny,” Jessica lies. Luke laughs.

“Poor boy. I’d be sad too.”

“Are you?” asks Jessica tentatively (which she never ever is), “You and Misty were pretty close.”

“Nah,” says Luke. “Misty’s a great girl. But we didn’t have it. You know? Sex was great, don’t get me wrong.”

Jessica slaps his arm.

“I just thought I should set the record straight for Colleen’s sake. Misty’s great.”

“Sure thing stud,” Jessica snarks.

“What about you?” asks Luke. “Seeing anyone lately?”

“Sure,” replies Jessica. “I see people. And for the record, also great.”

“Anyone special? What about that Malcolm, your new partner?” He’s staring at her, but Jessica is still staring at the deer.

“Yeah, that didn’t go anywhere.”

“Any particular reason?” Was Luke always this nosey. She should tell him to fuck off, but there’s a quietness to the room that tempts her.

“I dunno. Probably my fault.” She thinks of Malcolm’s last girlfriend who had liked to go to parties and have friends over and to socialize with Malcolm’s family.

“Did you want it to go anywhere?”

Jessica shrugs. She stares at the deer’s glossy dead eyes.

“You know how I am,” she says instead.

“Not really,” disagrees Luke. “Pretty sure your...Jessicaness,” his fingers brush her face, “was not the reason we ended.”

“I mean, it kind of was,” Jessica shoots back.

“Not the way you’re making it seem,” says Luke firmly. Where does Luke’s idea of her come from, Jessica wonders? Why does he think she is so special?

Jessica allows her cheek to rest against Luke’s shoulder. It is so big and comforting. Jessica had been skeptical of the job, the clothes, the general demeanor of the man she had seen at the bar this evening. But with the inn asleep and just a few red coals left in the fireplace, Jessica feels transported back in time. She almost does not hate this place.

“How have you been?” asks Luke. His voice is so soft and so deep. Jessica wonders if you can float on a voice? The question is the same one Claire had tried to ask. Jessica had not hated the check in, but Trish is not really something Claire understands.

“Shitty,” admits Jessica. Luke takes her hand and holds it between both of his.

“Thanks for sticking around,” says Luke. Jessica turns her face up to his. In the dim light she can’t quite make out his expression.

“How’d you know?” she asks. “How’d you know I was gonna leave town.”

Luke reaches over and slips a strand of Jessica’s hair behind her ear. She feels her whole body go still.

“That’s what I would have done,” says Luke simply.

Jessica moves in, slowly, but still driven by some irrepressible instinct that is overriding all the great advice she’d given herself before deciding to go on this trip. She presses her lips gently on Luke’s and then slips down so her head is laying on his chest.

“Thank you.”

Luke’s arms go around Jessica and he holds her. They lay like that on the couch as the hours tick by too quickly.


	10. Wedding Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy's big day has arrived and he is totally focused on Marci. Totally. He will not be distracted by Frank's new look.

Matt is only a minute late but Foggy has definitely sweated through his shirt. Thank god there is a back-up he can change into for pictures and the ceremony. Foggy glares at Matt which he hopes his friend can hear, or whatever he does, because there is no time to get into the fact that even in the middle of nowhere Matt still finds ways to be unreliable. 

“Rings?” Foggy whispers from his spot in front of the chuppah. Matt taps Karen who in turn places her hand over the pocket of her jacket. Foggy is impressed all over again with Marci for putting together Karen’s whole look. The silk coral dress comes just to her knee and matches the color of the floor length draped gowns the bridesmaids are wearing. But on top she’s wearing a jacket to match Matt and Theo, only with coral buttons and trim along the outside of the silk lapels. Her hair is parted to the side and tied back in a low bun. Soft curls frame her face. 

Theo, Foggy admits, is doing the Nelsons proud with his blonde locks pulled back in a low ponytail. He’s also shaved his goatee at Karen’s gentle suggestion. Poor Theo definitely has a crush. Another victim of the Karen Page charm. Foggy smiles affectionately. He would not change a thing.

Except maybe Matt’s hair. He could have sworn when Matt left the suite where they were all getting ready his hair hadn’t been that big. Did he go for a run? Was there a particularly fierce wind? 

With everyone finally in place, the music starts with a piano version of Louis Armstrong’s “Kiss to Build a Dream On.” Theo, then Karen, then Matt walk Marci’s friends down the aisle before peeling off to stand next to him so that Matt is at his elbow. The song transitions to “It’s Been a Long, Long Time.” The jazz ensemble joins in with the pianist and Foggy is pleased at the murmurs of appreciation. He has spent a while planning this entrance for Marci. Looking at the crowd, it is strikingly easy to see the difference between Marci’s guests and his. The Stahl side of the aisle are all dressed in formal black tie whereas chaos reigns on the Nelson side. 

And then he sees Marci. The dress is long sleeved and lace, but her shoulders are bare, set off by a lovely necklace and a veil that hangs beneath her pinned back hair to pool all the way to the floor. He’s grinning uncontrollably. 

“Matt,” he whispers. “She’s gorgeous.” Matt squeezes his arm. 

Foggy is not quite sure how he manages the hand off with Marci’s father without messing it up the way he had all through rehearsal. Of course her dad had been crying pretty hard yesterday which had made Foggy cry. Marci had snapped at everyone to pull themselves together. But she had done it in her overwhelmed voice. Today, however, they are all doing a good job. Foggy definitely is not tearing up.

Their celebrant, Foggy and Marci’s old Law school professor Judge George Tucker, kicks things off and Foggy kisses the top of Marci’s hand. Marci leans in slightly, away from George’s mic.

“How’d I do? I was going for Catholic chic.”

“Outstanding,” says Foggy. 

George is going on about what Foggy and Marci had been like as students when something makes Foggy look back across the lawn toward the driveway. Maybe he had felt Matt tense behind him. Maybe it had been Karen’s quiet gasp. But there, walking across the grass to the back row of chairs is a man who Foggy only recognizes from his unmistakable strut. He certainly doesn’t recognize the three piece suit, the full but well trimmed beard, or the thick hair pulled back neatly. He’s even wearing a goddamned tie. 

“Jesus Christ,” says Foggy. Out loud. George pauses mid sentence but powers on with a look of confusion. Foggy leans back and whispers to Matt. “He’s wearing a man bun! And he’s making it work! Karen did not prepare me for this.”

“I told you to be normal,” hisses Karen. “You’re getting married!”

“I agree with Foggy,” Marci interjects, also in a stage whisper. “You left out a lot in your description of what was under the Kevlar.” 

George pauses again and glares at both Foggy and Marci. Suddenly Foggy really does feel like he is back in class and has just been caught passing notes.

“Sorry,” Foggy and Marci whisper. 

Even after apologizing, he can not stop watching as Luke Cage indicates Frank should join himself, Danny, and Jessica in the back corner. Jessica, Foggy notes, is glaring daggers and Danny just looks confused. 

Somehow they are already at the vows. Apparently a quick ceremony is what you get when you eliminate all the religion and when you cut the only reading because Marci’s friend Betty had cried so hard during the rehearsal that she popped a blood vessel. Honestly, Foggy had not known she cared that much. 

Foggy and Marci stick to modified but traditional vows as a small gesture toward all the institutions they are otherwise ignoring. Marci had made clear she was not into romantic declarations of love in public. That is the kind of stuff, she had insisted, that gets shared in private. 

Karen slides Matt the rings and he in turn hands them to Foggy. Then, faster than Foggy thinks is possible, his old teacher is exhorting he and Marci to “kiss each other.”

Foggy does and he can feel Marci smiling against his mouth. 

“We made it!” she whispers. “No disasters.”

“Take that back,” he hisses, “the evening is just getting started.” The band kicks off and Marci kisses his hand as they walk back down the aisle together.

The wedding party regroups outside of the cocktail reception and Matt pulls Foggy into a hug. Overwhelmed, Foggy buries his face in Matt’s shoulder. 

“You did it buddy. I’m proud of you!” says Matt.

“Yeah?” asks Foggy. He doesn't know why he is asking, or even what he’s asking. Maybe part of him, deep deep down, feels like he is abandoning Matt. Which is silly. He has only gotten married and started a new job. And he is not going anywhere.

“Yeah,” says Matt. “This is exactly what I wanted for you.” Foggy can feel the tears in his eyes. Marci swats him. 

“No crying with Matt until after the pictures. And where is Karen?”

Matt subtly points into the distance where Karen and Frank are standing close but not touching. Seriously that man looks amazing. What the hell. 

“I see the attraction now,” says Marci. “He was a bit too GI Joe from what I saw on tv, but this works.”

“So does the GI Joe,” corrects Foggy. “But it needs to be appreciated in person to really get it.”

“I can see that,” Marci muses.

“You two are so strange,” says Matt. 

“Don’t call my wife strange,” objects Foggy, mostly for the sheer delight of saying “my wife” for the first time. 

“Karen!” yells Marci. “Pictures!”

Karen jogs across the lawn, trying to keep her heels from sinking into the grass. She’s biting her bottom lip and seems both pleased and worried. 

“We’ll try to be quick,” Marci promises. “And do something about Matt’s hair.”

Foggy looks back at Frank one last time, but he is already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter before we get to the reception, which will need two parts.


	11. The Wedding Reception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was no way Claire was going to avoid this awkwardness forever. Claire and Luke finally have to talk and we finally learn how Foggy's seating chart panned out.

Claire had ended up sitting with Foggy’s friend Brett of the NYPD during the ceremony as Jessica and Danny had chosen to join Luke in the back row. She tries not to feel abandoned by Jessica as it seems clear that something is going on with whatever case Jessica is working. But it is also hard not to suspect something is going on with her and Luke. Jessica had slunk into their hotel room around 5 a.m. and had collapsed face first, still in her leather jacket, on her bed.

Strangely, Claire is more annoyed that Luke’s presence is making it uncomfortable for her to hang out with Jessica and even Danny. She knew both of them first after all. Sure, Jessica and Luke have a history, but she went to China with Danny! And how desperate is she for company that she is jealous of spending time with Danny Rand? Maybe if she had pretended everything was normal by going downstairs yesterday, today would not be quite so awkward. But if Claire is really honest with herself, she had needed to cool down after seeing Matt. Talking one on one with Matt, in her hotel room no less, had resurfaced old behaviors and old emotions.

Claire follows Brett to the bar and they chat about Hell’s Kitchen and the surprising amount of acquaintances they have in common. They both agree that they must have run into each other back in her Metro General days. Brett has a bunch of funny stories about Foggy in high school which all make Foggy sound like a disaster, but in a charming way. She is beside herself laughing from Brett’s latest anecdote; Foggy, stoned out of his mind, had attempted to deliver a speech to run for student president. Apparently the speech had involved vending machines as a metaphor for the school administration’s impersonal transactional relationship with the student body. Only stoned Foggy had kept getting hung up on all the different unhealthy snacks one could procure, or not procure, at various machines in the high school.

“He really spiraled on Cool Ranch Doritos,” says Brett. “I have no idea why.”

Claire gasps for air and picks up her glass of white wine. Next to her the man who had arrived late and looks vaguely familiar orders a glass of rosé. He is wearing gloves which strikes Claire as a little funny, but it is chilly and she herself is wearing a black silk shawl with her dress. He nods at Claire and slips back into the crowd. Brett pauses, staring after him.

“I swear I know that man,” says Brett.

“He did seem familiar,” Claire agrees. “On the other hand he looks like half the people in Brooklyn these days.”

Brett laughs and they complain about how gentrified Claire’s new neighborhood is and how much everyone is charging for coffee. There is a gentle touch on Claire’s elbow and she swears she knows who it is before she even turns around. Even his shadow falling on her is unmistakable.

“Hi Luke,” says Claire.

“Claire.” There is a pause as they both look at each for the first time since that awful night when Claire’s dreams for the future had been cracked open. “Do you have a minute?”

Claire nods and turns to Brett, who does not deserve her abandonment.

“It was lovely meeting you,” she says apologetically.

“Maybe we’ll end up at the same table,” says Brett a little eagerly, and Claire worries she gave the wrong impression. Then again, why would it have to be wrong?

“Maybe.” She smiles again and lets Luke guide her off the patio and out onto the lawn, fingers brushing the fabric of her shawl.

Further away from the guests that are awaiting the return of the wedding party, as well as the heat lamps which are lining the cocktail area, Claire can feel the chill as the sun begins to sink toward the lake. She stares off toward the water which is a deep blue, reflecting the autumn sky. In the distance, where a small red barn stands at the edge of the vineyard, Claire can make out Foggy, Marci and Matt taking pictures. It appears they might be wrapping up.

Luke pauses and waits for Claire to look at him, which she does at last. After all this time, Claire is still not sure what to think about Luke Cage.

“Hey,” he says and Claire rolls her eyes. “Hey” is not a conversation. It is a way to make the other person start the conversation. And since she hasn’t initiated this whole thing, she doesn’t feel obliged to make it any easier.

“Hey,” she retorts with studied casualness. Jazz music fills the silence. Claire recognizes the song as “Take the A Train.”

“I’m sorry if I made this awkward for you,” apologizes Luke. “I know this isn’t really my crowd. Normally I would have stayed away, but…” He trails off.

But what? Claire wonders. Has he been hoping to see her? Or is this just about the politics of being King of Harlem? Both ideas make her unhappy, but in different ways.

“Claire, I know you don’t like the way I’ve chosen to make a difference. I know you wanted me to be more like Matt, stepping into situations that others can’t, being a symbol for the block. But I don’t know how to make a meaningful difference by myself. I don’t think it’s possible to do that without also trying to build something, to be a leader in the community. I don’t regret the choice I made.”

“Okay,” Claire says at last.

“Okay?” Luke cocks and eyebrow at her and smiles slightly, like he knows Claire’s holding back and the idea is amusing.

“I agree with everything you’re saying. I just don’t agree that working out of Harlem’s Paradise makes you the kind of leader my neighborhood needs. But I don’t get a choice in what you do,” explains Claire. “And I’m okay with that. I’ve made my own choices.”

“I heard,” says Luke. He smiles proudly at her and Claire remembers again how kind he is. Luke has a beautiful rich kindness that Claire had read to mean all sorts of things, like that they had been on the same page, and that they had been enough for each other. But now she sees that the empathy Luke projects does not mean he agrees with her. For the first time in a while Claire really misses having Luke in her life, but not as a lover, but as someone who listens and cares.

“Still,” says Luke, “I do regret how it ended. That anger, I don’t know how to make it go away, but I do know that it should never ever have come anywhere near you. I hope you believe that and can trust me again.”

Claire takes his hand. She looks at his skin: dark, beautiful, bulletproof.

“I trust that you would never, ever, hurt me out of anger,” says Claire, choosing her words carefully. She wants to absolve him of that at least. But she also knows she will never trust anyone who operates out of Harlem’s Paradise. Luke squeezes her fingers back, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly at her words.

“Can we start being cool now?” asks Luke.

“We’re cool,” Claire replies, and feels relieved to mean it.

“Good, because there are some things you probably should know.” His face goes from soft to hard in an instant and Claire feels the familiar lurch in her stomach.

“What the fuck is going on now? And don’t even say the word ninja!”

Luke’s hands go up in the air and he shakes his head.

“Never again. No, but there’s a rumor that someone took out a hit on DA Tower over some corruption task force he’s starting.”

Claire frowns. Brett had filled her in on that a little bit after the wedding.

“The one Foggy’s going to head-up?” she asks.

“Bullseye,” says Luke.

“Jesus,” mumors Claire. It is just so unsubtle. If anything the last year of internal investigations and exposé reporting on Wilson Fisk’s secret empire--lead by _The Bulletin_ \--has shown, it is that for all the street level violence, the real power in the city operates with handshakes and shell companies in the Cayman Islands. Real bad guys get things done without murder. “Someone must really not like Foggy.”

“Jessica thinks she knows who. And it tracks with what Matt and Karen have been putting together in their investigation into Rand Real Estate Development,” says Luke.

“Were you investigating too?” Claire asks. Luke shakes his head no and takes a sip of what Claire is now suspecting is water and not a gin and tonic.

“I had heard rumors that some people weren’t very happy about moves within the DA’s office. A lot of people have been charged because of the Fisk business and a lot more people were interested in making new arrangements for themselves. I’ve been monitoring all the property deals north of the Park. About four months ago, I had a couple of people pop into the Paradise looking to meet. It was suggested to me that lucrative ways to bring investment into the community might be opening up in a few months, following some anticipated personnel changes in the DA’s office.”

“That’s one way to put it,” drawls Claire.

“In one way Franklin should see it as a compliment. Everyone thinks that if Fisk couldn’t shake him, no one can.”

Claire is grateful for her glass of wine.

“You think they’d come all the way out here though?”

Luke’s eyes meet her own and the iciness she feels is not coming off the lake.

“Someone tried this morning,” Luke says, his voice low. “We actually expected something last night, but it was quiet. However, this morning someone came in dressed like a caterwaiter. Matt kicked his teeth in.”

“Where is he now?” Claire demands.

“Danny’s driving him to the police station. We locked him in the trunk of Jessica’s car until the wedding was over.” Claire swears. Her wine is gone.

Claire thinks of Jessica’s car, Big Blue, with a gagged assassin sweating in the back while Foggy and Marci had said their vows.

“There’s one more thing you should probably know,” says Luke. “The Punisher is here.”

Panic starts to rise in Claire’s chest as she remembers those weeks of mass shootings. Why would The Punisher be here! What should she do? Danny has taken her car and all these people are stuck in the middle of nowhere with a trigger happy killer.

“He’s....” Luke pauses like he does not know how to go on. He seems surprisingly calm.

“Why aren’t you worried! Didn’t he shoot Foggy?”

“Apparently he didn’t,” says Luke. “Although that doesn’t really explain why he’s Karen Page’s date.”

Claire blacks out. Her adrenaline spikes so hard her vision for an instant goes dark and she has to blink hard to ground herself.

“Man bun! The hipster man! That rosé ordering, glove wearing, micro-brewery owning man is The Punisher!”

“Shhhh,” whispers Luke, rubbing her arm in what he must think is a calming fashion. Claire does not appreciate being shushed.

“How is this wedding weirder than even I thought it could be!”

Luke shrugs.

“Frank and I just had a quick chat.”

“So it’s Frank now?” mutters Claire.

“Apparently there is a reason we had a quiet night last night and Matt only had to deal with one asshole this morning. The person who put out the hit really wanted to make a statement. Frank made one first.”

“Shit,” says Claire, both terrified and impressed. “What do we do now, send everyone home?” wonders Claire.

“Between the evidence Matt says is in his office and what Jessica’s partner Malcolm was able to get yesterday, Misty thinks they can get a court order and start making arrests tonight. And from what Frank has shared, which, granted, was not heavy on detail, I think we’ve made it through.”

“Awesome,” says Claire. “I am so glad I came.”

Luke smiles and squeezes her hand.

“If it makes you feel better, I’m glad you came.”

“It really does not Luke.”

Luke laughs and holds out his arm.

“Where to?” he asks.

“The bar,” states Claire. She stares back toward the guests in their assorted finery. Already the Nelsons have begun carousing. It seems so sweet and innocent now that she knows about what could have happened to Foggy. She takes a deep breath.

Jessica joins them as Claire waves down the very busy bartender. When large gestures don’t cut it, Claire holds up a ten dollar bill to pull his attention away from some thirsty cousins with strong Long Island accents.

“You two kiss and make up?” asks Jessica, sounding edgy. After Jessica’s afternoon, Claire doesn’t blame her.

Claire looks up at Luke and he smiles.

“We’re cool.” Claire reiterates, smiling back. Turning, she places her hand on Jessica’s shoulder, her gaze serious. “Do you want to get drunk?”

Jessica cackles.

The bartender, finally free from the clutches of the Long Islanders, stands before Claire, his eye drifting to the money in her hand. She slides it into the tip jar.

“Patron-us,” orders Claire, sweeping her arm wand-like to indicate Luke, Jessica, and herself. The bartender smiles out of politeness but Luke chuckles.

“What?” asks Jessica.

“It’s a Harry Potter thing,” says Luke. “They’re like these magical protections.”

“Ugh,” Jessica groans. “Nerds. Make mine a Jameson.” The bartender smiles at Jessica. She clearly has a fan.

With all the people around, Claire can not really ask Jessica any questions, but she decides they will have plenty of time to get into that morbid conversation later. Luke’s phone rings and he goes to take it. From a distance he gives them both a reassuring wave. It looks like the news from back in Manhattan is good. Claire notices DA Tucker, who is standing nearby, picking up his phone. His eyes go large and he starts making his way out of the party, smiling, shaking hands and making excuses.

“Looks like someone just got called back to work,” says Claire.

“Imagine that,” Jessica drawals. “The work of our public servants is never done. It’s inspiring really.”

From across the lawn, Claire sees that the wedding party is coming back. A bell starts to ring and one of the catering staff invites them all to find their seating assignments and make their way into the tent. Reluctantly, Claire peels away from the bar and she and Jessica head toward the tented reception area.

“How the hell am I supposed to know where table 8 is?” asks Jessica, staring around the room. Claire quickly checks her own card in confusion, table 2.

“I guess we’re at different tables,” murmurs Claire, looking around. Table 2 seems awfully near the front. Foggy and Marci have been seated on their own at an old oak table while circular tables with spindly legged chairs fan out around the room. The dance floor is set behind them.

“Why would you even bother with telling people where to sit?” wonders Jessica. Claire thinks of Foggy’s white board.

“Beats me.”

With a shrug, Jessia heads off. Not surprisingly, Claire sees Luke join her at a table in the back corner. The man bun--The Punisher--Frank is there too. Jessica does not look pleased and Claire watches as Luke puts a hand on her arm and sits Jessica down. Claire rubs her finger along her bottom lip and thinks about Trish, sent to the Raft after killing people in her quest to be more like her sister. Foggy maybe missed a few things in that spread sheet of his.

Claire sits down and the lights strung around the tent flicker. She tenses for a moment before she realizes the emcee is just trying to get the room’s attention. The sun is just setting and there is a golden glow under the white tarp. Big light bulbs hang from metal beams; Colleen had been spot on. She smiles at the three men sitting at the table across from her. They are all very handsome and well turned out. More finance bros, she thinks sadly, and wonders if Foggy and Marci have stuck her at the singles table.

The band starts up and the emcee begins announcing the wedding party. Theo walks in with his bridesmaid, both waving at the crowd. Then Marci’s other two bridesmaids walk in together, and finally Karen and Matt enter arm and arm. Claire claps. They look so handsome together. No sane person would suspect Karen had invited a serial killer and Matt had broken a man’s jaw this morning.

“And introducing for the first time, Franklin and Marci Nelson!”

The room roars. Claire is a bit shocked Marci changed her name. Marci does not seem the type. Foggy and Marci stroll into the tent and make their way onto the dance floor, their cheeks pink from being out in the breeze.

“And now, for the first dance!” calls the emcee.

Claire stands and walks toward the edge of the dance floor for a better view. The band starts playing, “My One and Only Love.” The singer has a beautiful baritone and is doing a pretty impressive Sinatra.

Foggy’s hair is a little rumpled but Marci does not seem to mind. They are whispering to each other as Foggy leads her around the dance floor, and then with a flourish, elegantly dips her. Claire joins the crowd in applause.

“He didn’t drop her this time,” says a voice at her elbow. How does Matt keep doing that? Claire wonders. She had been so sure Matt would spend the entire weekend ignoring her as he had for almost three years and now he seems to be everywhere.

“The practice shows,” says Claire, applauding the end of the dance and adding a whistle as Foggy and Marci kiss. “How’s the sinuses,” she asks, like a good nurse.

“Still can’t smell a thing, but I’m less uncomfortable,” says Matt, and she can hear the faintest squeak in his voice. It is kind of endearing.

“I brought the goods with me in my purse,” Claire whispers, as though they are planning a clandestine drug deal. Her eyes slide over to Matt who is smiling.

He is still wearing his dark red glasses, which Claire supposes is how most people see Matt. They are very handsome but Claire feels the need to pluck them off his face.

The emcee announces the start of dinner and Claire returns to her seat only to find Matt still at her elbow. He reaches out with feigned clumsiness and pulls out her chair. Not sure how to publicly interact with “blind normal human Matt Murdock,” Claire sits. He takes the seat next to her.

Oh no, Claire thinks, the horror of the moment hitting her. She is not at the singles table. She is at the wedding party table. Sure enough the bridesmaids take their seats next to their Ken Doll dates. There has been some terrible mistake.

“I think there has been a mix-up,” Claire whispers. “Foggy said I was supposed to be seated with Danny and Colleen.” It is a lie, but Foggy might have said that. And Colleen cancelled so there should be a spot there.

Immediately she feels Matt’s hand shoot across the table to gently take her wrist.

“Please stay,” he whispers. “Foggy had to move Karen because of her date and if you leave I will be alone here.” Claire can read the desperation on his face.

“Okay,” she murmurs. Matt gives her arm a light squeeze and then his hand lingers a moment too long before letting go. Claire reminds herself to breathe.

The moment, if it had been a moment, disappears as soon as Marci’s friend initiates introductions. Betty Brant seems like a genuinely interesting person, but the same cannot be said for her date whose “jokes” have her and Matt both on edge.

“I don’t know why anyone bothers going west of Broadway anymore,” the man continues. “It’s practically a war zone. At this point we’d all probably be better off if we just walled off half the island.”

Matt’s hand tightens on his fork and Claire notices for the first time the bruising on his knuckles. Claire slides her hand over his and takes the fork away.

“Or the city could build more affordable housing instead of driving everyone’s tax rates up with new high rise condos,” says Claire. “Then there are the schools which could probably keep the students in seats longer if they could offer more than one meal a day and actually get them in classes small enough for some individual attention. A little investment in the community and efforts to rebuild a middle class would probably do more good than enabling a system that accredits officers for dealing with petty crime but encourages them to bury crimes like rape. But those are just a couple ideas that would cost less than a wall and be more effective.” Claire shrugs and takes a sip of her champagne which she might have been supposed to save for the wedding toasts.

“What are you a communist?” asks the finance bro. Everyone at the table looks embarrassed.

“Wow,” says Claire.

“Excuse us,” says Betty. She grabs her date and pulls him away from the table.

“Sorry,” says one of the two blonde bridesmaids. Claire has already forgotten their names. “He was a last minute addition after the guy she’s been seeing bailed. It was a snap judgement. Usually Betty has better taste.”

Claire forces herself to smile, to show there are no hard feelings.

“Who isn’t guilty of wasting time on men who aren’t worth it,” says Claire.

“Ouch,” Matt murmurs. Claire smiles and this time it’s genuine, if a little wicked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh. The calm before the storm. 
> 
> Additionally, yes Betty Brant is a Spiderman character who, if I was being truly MCU compliant, would be in high school. But Betty Brant of the comics has always intrigued me as a working woman with an insane boss who is just trying to live her life. I thought Marci could use a friend like that. Additionally, another of Marci's bridesmaids is Christine Palmer, a friend from law school who retrained as a nurse against her parents wishes and just graduated. If they had only had more time to chat, Chrissy, Matt, and Claire would have had a very interesting conversation about their professions. Foggy planned for that! Alas, Matt has to make a speech. Which we will see next chapter...


	12. A Toast to the Bride and to the Groom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alas, there are no weddings without murderous assassins. Foggy's made some enemies and they are here to party. In this upside down Defenders' story which is all downtime and hangouts, this is the chapter where that switches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that warranted the violence warning. However the violence is in line with the actual shows. Certainly not worse.

The speech, Matt determines, is going well. Foggy is openly crying as he recounts their first meeting in college and shares the avocado anecdote. He describes meeting Karen, and the forming of the first family Matt has had since he was a child. At times he feels like his throat is swelling closed, but he carries on because after absolutely everything Matt has done, Foggy deserves to know how much he means to him. Matt takes a steadying breath.

“Which brings us to Marci,” says Matt, entering into the part of this speech he has been worrying about for weeks. “I’ve known Marci almost as long as Foggy. I knew her when she was a menace to professors, completely fearless in speaking her mind, and unwilling to stand any kind of condescension. Marci was a whirl of energy on campus, somehow involved in every event and speaker series while still ruthlessly competing with me for top marks. And if we are both being honest with each other, competing for Foggy’s attention.” The room fills with laughter.

“Once Foggy and Marci started dating, I had to get used to the sound of her very loud stilettos as she would come by either to drag Foggy off or to engage in one of their arguments which for the non lawyers in the crowd is just really aggressive flirting. There were days when I really missed my friend,” Matt takes a beat, gauging the crowd. He listens to Foggy and Marci’s heartbeats.

“But then one day, Foggy and I caught the flu.” Matt turns so he is facing Foggy and Marci’s table. “Foggy and I were a mess. Neither of us had the energy to leave the dorm. Those days are still a blur, but I remember clearly waking up to the sound of those stilettos trying to kick our door down. Marci took one look at Foggy and called his mother to come and get him. But when it became clear there was no one to call for me, Marci stayed. She ordered soup from the deli, forced me to take Tylenol, and emailed all my professors. Anyone who knows me will tell you I am a pretty terrible patient. I probably told her to leave a 100 times, but she didn’t.”

“That day told me everything I needed to know about Marci Stahl. That she is strong and confident in her convictions, that she is capable and brilliant, and most of all, that she is caring. I probably didn’t express my thanks properly at the time. But Marci, I have never once forgotten what you did for me, and I have never missed what you have done for Foggy.”

“Those qualities have helped Foggy become the person he is today. What I saw as stealing my friend away was her helping him grow. Together they have both learned from each others’ best traits, growing in generosity, conviction, confidence, and maturity.”

“And Marci,” says Matt, turning to the crowd, “let’s face it, can do things for Foggy I’m not capable of.” The room fills with rude laughter, “By which of course I mean inspire him, take care of him, and help him walk into the future. If it were up to me, Foggy and I would just keep working for chickens out of an office space which I have been told isn’t sanitary. Personally I don’t see it.” He gets at least one cringey blind joke. It is the law. “Marci, however, has much better taste than that. Which is why when she fell in love, she fell for the very best. Here’s to my friend, my brother, and greatest hero in all of New York City. And here’s to the woman he loves with his whole heart.”

“And, though it may be cliche, I’ll end with these well loved words that I know more than a few of you know, so please join me in a toast: ‘May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face; the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand.’”

“Amen,” finishes Matt, and hopes Marci does not take offence at the nod to religion in their ecumenical marriage.

“Slainte,” yells Theo.

“Mazel Tov!” yells a cousin.

Matt raises his glass with the rest of the room. There’s a pause, a moment of silence, and that is when Matt hears the telltale click.

He dives toward Foggy and Marci and flips the oak table on its side pulling them both forcefully to the ground. The sound of the gunshots rips through the gasps of confusion. The gunman is walking toward him, bullets thudding at regular intervals into the back of the table, like someone knocking at the door. Foggy rolls on top of Marci, covering her with his body. Matt in turn is holding Foggy’s head down. All three of them are completely trapped. The shooter has plenty of bullets. Matt’s only hope is that the man will get close enough that Matt can get the gun away. But he has no idea how to maneuver that without getting shot. He reaches behind him for the overturned chair and breaks two legs off to use as clubs.

“Hello Matthew,” says the familiar voice of Benjamin Poindexter. “It’s been a while huh? I loved the speech. Very on brand. After studying you for so long it was very gratifying to see the full show.”

“Dex,” Matt tries. “If this is about Fisk and me. We can take this outside.”

“Fisk is old news,” says Dex. “Or he certainly will be the next time I see him. No this is more like a business trip. Granted, one of the good ones where you get to go somewhere really nice and you can honestly say it’s been a pleasure.”

Shit Matt thinks, adjusting the chair legs in his hands. He can smell Foggy and Marci’s fear. He can also hear his friends out in the tent, sliding behind the tables, trying to get close enough to help.

“Where’s Karen?” asks Dex. “It’s been so long since I saw her. Do you think she’ll remember me?”

“After you tried to kill her,” asks Matt. “Yeah, I think she remembers that.”

“You know when I was dressed as Daredevil, Matthew, I could feel the connection with her. Standing in that suit, it felt palpable. You know what I mean?”

“Not really, Dex.” says Matt and hears the cackle in response.

“How’d you get in?” asks Matt, stalling for time.

“You really are blind,” Dex laughs. “I was with the band.” Matt feels sick. He had been so vigilant. But there is something different about Dex now, his gait is different, as is the way he holds himself. And with Matt’s sinuses a mess, he had not been able to smell the gunpowder over the odor of the brass and instrument grease.

“How’s the back?” asks Matt.

Dex does not like that question. Bullets split the wood of the table and Matt can feel the hot metal sticking halfway through the table, barely arrested in its path toward his forehead.

Then the sound of the bullets changes. They are no longer thudding into the wooden table but tearing through fabric to bounce off something soft, but completely bulletproof. Luke.

He hears Luke take a swing at Dex but the man moves with incredible speed and strikes Luke hard in the back of the head with one of his guns. Luke is bulletproof, but it is clear from Luke’s stagger following the blow that years of getting hit in the head have left their mark. Matt can relate.

There is a loud cracking noise, and suddenly the hum of the lights vanishes. A further crash has hundreds of yards of fabric sinking through the air followed by the the crunch of hundreds of light bulbs shattering as they drop to the ground. Jessica has brought half the tent down, the half including Dex, but also Matt, Foggy and Marci.

“This way,” he hears Claire command the guests. She is squatting by a table near the edge of the tent and seems to be directing everyone to run toward the cars. Matt wants to tell her to flee as well.

With the lights out, however, Matt is free to do everything he has to. Dex, momentarily confused, spins in the darkness struggling with the folds of tarp hanging around him. He starts firing at random and Matt prays Dex does not hit anyone.

“Luke,” Matt calls. “Get Foggy and Marci out.” Luke struggles toward Matt’s voice, but it is clear he is still adjusting to the darkness and the canvas folds of the tent have him confused. Matt climbs out from around the table and grabs Luke to direct him toward Foggy and Marci. Thankfully Luke seems to guess who it is because he does not take a swing at him.

“Here,” says Marci. She grabs her steak knife and drives it into the canvas that is draped over them. It is the right idea but she is not quite strong enough to pull it off quickly.

“Brilliant,” says Matt and takes the knife from her to make faster work of the escape hole.

“I know,” says Marci, in imitation of her normal unabashed confidence.

“Take them toward the restroom trailer and wait,” Matt directs Luke.

“For what?”

“Danny.” Matt can hear Danny coming up the driveway now. He will have seen the tent collapse and know there is a problem.

“Matt,” pleads Foggy.

“Go now!”

Luke hustles them out of the hole in the fabric and keeps his body between Foggy, Marci and the tent. Together they race into the dark.

Marci, unfortunately, is not the only one who has discovered that the way out is through. Matt can hear Dex shooting the rest of his clip into the canvas and ripping at the hole. Matt tries to run toward the spot where Dex is freeing himself from the tent. From somewhere behind Dex, Matt can hear someone else making their careful way toward the shooter. Matt is not going to make it in time, but if Matt can keep Dex’s attention, together they have a shot at taking Dex out. There are two sharp clicks as Dex reloads his guns. Matt throws himself forward, all but begging Dex to shoot him, when he hears Dex pivot and aim.

“Jessica duck!” Matt screams.

She does, but not fast enough. The bullet hits with a sickening thud.

Matt kicks Dex’s legs out from under him. He reaches for one gun but feels Dex’s elbow smash into his nose. Blood pours down Matt’s throat. He weaves to the side and lands a punch hard into Dex’s side. The last time they had fought, Dex had worn, and forever ruined, Daredevils’ body armour. This time, Matt feels the ribs underneath the muscle. He continues raining hits, but Dex is fast and can take a punch.

Matt is also feeling the pain of blow after bow. Dex’s strikes are vicious, but as long as Matt has his attention Dex can not hurt anyone else. Not Jessica, not Karen, not Claire. He wants to check for them, but he can not afford to move his senses away from the fight. At one point Dex clocks Matt in the ear and the subsequent tinnitus, mixed with his lack of sinuses, makes the world fade out.

Mat gambles and strikes out with the chair leg toward the heat he’s sensing on his left side and feels his makeshift club connect with the gun in Dex’s right hand. It flies off, hopefully lost in folds of canvas.

Unfortunately, in committing to the strike, Matt’s foot has shifted too far forward, tangling in the tent. When he tries to dodge the next blow, his balance is off. With ease, Dex grabs Matt’s arm and throws Matt onto his back.

“Even a blind man couldn’t miss from here,” Dex sneers. Matt doesn’t even have a chance to breathe.

***

Sitting in the back of the tent, Karen can feel the tears on her face as Matt tells the crowd the story of their friendship: from clueless kids from Hell’s Kitchen, to suddenly competing in a completely different world that neither of them understood, and then to Avocados in Law. Karen smiles when Matt talks about when she had shown up in their lives five years ago.

“Of course, we had no idea what a pain in the ass she’d turn out to be,” Matt grouses in front of the room. Karen smiles affectionately. Next to her, Frank’s hand slides over to take hers. The giddy pleasure the gesture gives her even distracts her from Matt’s apocryphal stories about how Karen had single handedly faced down Wilson Fisk and won. Frank's thumb is drawing circles along the back of Karen’s hand. He’s staring at her, but Karen can see he’s hanging on every one of Matt’s words.

Matt switches from the three of them to Marci and the combative, competitive way she’d slotted into Matt’s life. He’s moving toward the end of the speech, with a few more bad jokes that fit the crowd perfectly. When Matt’s in this groove, Karen honestly thinks he might be a better litigator than a hero. He is utterly in control of the crowd.

“Amen,” says Matt.

“Good job, Matty,” Karen says, and hopes he can hear her.

Karen looks up to meet Frank’s gaze, but Frank has gone rigid. His hand around hers is trembling. And then she hears the shots.

It is chaos. People are screaming, and running. She cannot see Foggy, Matt and Marci. Frank’s arm goes around her and hauls her backward.

“Micro we got fire,” she hears him say to no one. “Just tell me if we got company. You don’t have to be wearing pants for that.”

“Jessica, Matt needs cover,” instructs Luke.

“I’ll figure something out,” the angry brunette hisses back. Jessica Jones, who Karen had only known anecdotally until today, has certainly been living up to all her reputations this evening. While the angry glares coming Karen’s way during dinner had been alarming, now Karen finds Jessica’s calm fury reassuring.

“You two armed?” asks Luke. Karen nods and grabs her purse.

“I can’t do anything with all these people,” Frank growls. “That man is hitting exactly what he’s aiming at.” Karen wonders how Frank can tell. “The moment he stops fucking with Red a lot of people are gonna die.”

“I said I’m on it!” says Jessica. “Luke get your ass up there and buy me some time.”

The screaming has died down as people cower under their tables. Karen can at last see, and recognize the shooter. She feels the nausea rise in her throat. She will never forget that voice.

“Where’s Karen,” she hears Dex ask. Karen goes cold all over. Suddenly she feels Frank’s breath in her ear. The feeling is so startling that she begins to struggle, forgetting who is holding her.

“Karen” Frank says, his growl breaking through the panic. “In my car is a very long case. When you get the signal, I want you to run, get it, and meet me by the catering van.”

“What signal?” Karen asks. And then the tent comes down. Karen runs.

She races across the lawn to the Jeep Wrangler Frank had pointed out after the wedding ceremony. It had seemed like such a pointless bit of small talk after all these months, but it is certainly paying off now. She gets to the car, grabs the door. It is locked.

Shit! Her eyes scan the darkness for something with which to break the window.

She hears a click and Karen looks back at the car in shock. The locks have just been popped. Did Frank unlock it from the tent? There is no time to speculate. She grabs the case and sprints back toward Frank, praying to Matt’s god to keep them all safe.

***

Foggy is holding Marci’s hand and they are running toward the road where Matt directed them. Marci struggles, her heels are gone but the shape of her skirt is limiting her stride. Foggy is considering throwing Marci over his shoulder when Luke swings Foggy’s wife into his arms like the iconic scene from The Bodyguard. It’s emasculating, incredibly hot, and Foggy could not be more grateful as they tear across the lawn.

They are almost to the safety of the bathroom trailer they rented for the event (if that can be called safety because Newman from Seinfeld definitely was eaten off the toilet in Jurassic Park) when a figure steps out from the shadows, a gun pointed at Foggy’s forehead. Foggy vaguely recognizes him as Betty’s awful date.

“Damn it Betty,” says Foggy in shock rather than bravado. “Your taste in men is worse than Karen’s.”

“Thanks for the hospitality,” the dickhead says.

Foggy closes his eyes, even as he throws his arms out, hopping to shield Marci from all of this. The shot does not come. Instead, someone slams dickhead so hard into the trailer the metal siding is dented. Danny Rand’s fists glow in the night sky.

“What the hell!” yells Foggy.

“I am the Immortal Iron Fist,” says Danny. Which explains nothing.

“Right now we need the Immortal Iron Fist’s car,” points out Luke.

“Oh right,” says Danny. He tosses his keys toward Luke, but Marci catches them.

“Thank you Mr. Rand,” says Marci, with strange politeness. She’s clearly going through something right now.

“Oh, sure.” replies Danny.

“You two drive to the inn and lock yourselves in the basement,” says Luke. “Jessica and I checked it out yesterday and that should hold you while you wait for the police.”

“Shouldn’t we just go to the police station?” asks Marci, which Foggy agrees is an excellent plan.

“I don’t know what else might be on the roads. Hang tight until, either, me, Jessica, or Matt come. Or Frank,” says Luke, although he sounds less sure of that last one.

“Fine,” says Foggy. “Take care of Matt.”

Foggy hears someone yell in pain. Luke drops Marci, who barely manages to control her fall. Before Foggy can say anything, Luke is sprinting back toward the tent. For a man that big he is incredibly fast. Danny is about to run after him when another attacker runs out of the dark. Danny springs in front of Foggy and throws the guy on the ground.

“I better go with you,” says Danny. Foggy wants to scream at him to go find Matt, but then he sees Marci and knows that he can’t leave her unprotected.

“Let’s go then.”

***

“You couldn’t have picked a more remote location?” grumbles Micro.

“Didn’t pick it,” Frank reminds him.

“You don’t call in how long and when I do hear from you you’re what, providing private security for some lawyer’s wedding? Did you go soft?”

“Something like that,” says Frank. “Have you been able to get a satellite on the place?”

“What I wouldn’t give for a drone,” sighs Micro, “or at least a low flying government plane. I need some heat sensors. It’s too dark.”

“So you can’t do shit,” interprets Frank. It’s a heckofah time to find out your hacking genius is not actually some sort of all seeing god.

“I didn’t say that. I just let your girlfriend in your car. You should have mentioned Karen was there earlier.”

Frank grunts. Foggeting the car was locked had been stupid. This is harder with Karen here, it is too easy to forget details. Sending her for the rifle had been the best he could come up with to get her far away while her friends were in danger.

“Shit,” says Micro. “You need to get to Karen now!”

The arm holding Karen’s gun, which Frank had trained on the area where that Dex asshole might be, drops. He had just needed visual confirmation of the target, but the moment Micro had sworn, Frank’s whole body had thrown itself with total abandon toward Karen.

“He’s behind her,” instructs Micro. “I can see him in your dash cam.” Knowing the angle Frank had parked the car, and where he’d told Karen to run, Frank lines up the shot. Even running full speed with only starlight, Frank knows he will not miss. He's about to pull the trigger, but then he recalibrates the shot slightly and fires. He hears the scream as the bullet buries into the man’s kneecap. He had promised not to kill anyone, though he suspects Karen might not mind given the circumstances.

Karen stumbles and turns around. He sees her rush toward the fallen man and smash the heavy case of Frank’s sniper rifle into the side of the attacker’s head. Satisfied, she takes the unconscious man’s gun and holds it in front of her.

“Here,” calls Frank, before she shoots him by mistake. Karen rushes to his side and Frank puts his arms around her. She has lost her shoes somewhere so they are exactly the same height. He feels her cheek against his beard and sighs in relief that this time he is here on time.

“How many are there?” asks Karen.

“I don’t know,” says Frank. “Let’s even the odds.” He throws open the gun case and Karen stands guard with the assassins’ gun as Frank attaches the scope to the rifle. “Here,” says Frank, tossing Karen her own gun back. Karen catches it and sighs appreciatively. He appreciates the steadiness of her hands as she releases the safety.

“Attagirl,” he murmurs as he finishes assembling the rifle. Set up, he lays down on the grass, training his scope across the lawn.

“Anything else behind me?” Asks Frank.

“I don’t think so,” says Karen.

“From what I can tell you’re clear,” agrees Micro in his ear. “My coverage is pretty much a bunch of luxury car dash cams but for what it’s worth you look good. I mean the hair. It suits you.”

Frank growls.

“What is it,” asks Karen.

“Luke and Danny just took out two more. That makes four bad guys.”

“That’s a lot of bad guys,” Karen agrees.

“You don’t know the half of it. I took out at least fifteen people on their way here. Somebody put a bounty out on the Counselor and his buddy the DA.”

“Fuck. Fuck.” Karen turns and aims her gun into the darkness, not realizing Micro has that angle covered.

“The man Luke, he said he took care of the money bags earlier this afternoon. Either word didn’t get to these guys or…”

“With Dex it’s personal,” says Karen. “He would probably have come for free.”

“This the guy you, Matty, and the Counselor had trouble with last year?”

“One of them,” says Karen.

“These other guys, they work for him or they also got something personal?”

Karen shrugs.

“It’s a long list.”

“I’m getting that,” says Frank. Jesus Christ if it isn’t one thing it’s another. “Looks like I can’t leave you alone,” says Frank. He can hear Karen about to say something when Murdock and the assassin finally break apart. He’s got a clear shot. He takes it.

***

The bullet blows through the hand holding the gun. Dex screams and Matt can smell the blood pouring out of the wound. He can hear the gristle of the hanging flesh. Three fingers are hanging by sinew.

Spit pours from Dex’s mouth and Matt sees Dex reach with his right hand for yet another gun strapped to his shoulder. But no sooner does he have it than another shot rings out. The right hand now looks like a mirror image of the left. Dex howls.

Matt kicks out at Dex’s legs, finally knocking the psychopath to the ground. Dex reflexively tries to catch his fall and the agony of mangled hands hitting the ground is palpable. Then with one swing of the chair leg, Matt stops the screaming.

In the distance, Matt can hear sirens. Around him is the devastation of Foggy and Marci’s autumnal vineyard wedding reception.

“I’m fine Luke,” he hears Jessica say. “It’s just my arm.”

“There are arteries in your arm Jessica,” he contradicts. “Claire! Are you here?”

“I’m here,” calls Claire. Matt strains toward her voice. He had not known she was this close! Why hadn’t she run away when she had gotten the rest of the guests to run for their cars? He hears Claire carefully pick her way toward Luke and Jessica and the click of the flashlight she carries in her purse even at black tie weddings.

“Luke’s right about arteries but you got lucky,” says Claire. “The bullet has gone clean through. We just need to get you sterilized. When was the last time you had a tetanus booster?”

“Strangely enough, incredibly recently,” says Jessica. Claire twists her head toward Matt and waits. Matt nods that she’s telling the truth.

“Keep putting pressure on it Luke,” orders Claire, while checking Jessica for additional injuries.

“Any chance you can patch me up?” asks Jessica. “I’m not really a hospital person.”

“You need a hospital,” Luke scolds. Claire snorts.

“Sorry Luke, but that is rich coming from you. Yeah, I can take care of it at the inn. But you’ll both need to leave now to miss the cops. I’ll meet you later at my room.”

“Aren’t you coming?” Luke demands.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Trust me, keep putting pressure on that and you’ll be fine. I’ve managed a lot of triage at the ER.”

From Luke’s obstinate stance and the jackhammering of his heart, Matt knows Luke isn’t convinced.

“I’ll let you carry me if it will make you feel better about it,” offers Jessica. There’s a playfulness in her tone Matt doesn't think he’s heard before. It could be the blood loss, but Matt almost thinks Jessica sounds giddy.

Sighing, Luke lifts Jessica off the ground and starts back toward the inn.

“I knew I’d never get away with a white top,” he hears Jessica say. “No way I wasn’t going to make a mess.”

“I am too tired for your jokes,” says Luke. There is definitely something going on there thinks Matt. He’s too tired, and grateful, to be angry at Luke. Still, he is concerned about Claire.

He allows his senses to stretch out and map her. He takes in Claire’s rapid, but steady heart beat, like that of a runner who has just gotten across the finish line. He can smell her adrenaline, her sweat, and the hairspray she had worn to set her curls. He can feel the weight of her attention in return.

“I think my sinuses cleared,” Matt jokes.

“Come here,” Claire commands. Her hands are running over his head and he winces when she finds the bloody patch near his temple.

“Concussion, abrasion, broken nose, but I don’t think your skull is cracked. You’ll need to come down to the clinic when we are back in the city for x-rays though.”

“Claire…”

“No buts, I’ve wanted to examine your head for years and now I finally have access to the technology. We’ll run some tests for CTE while we’re at it. It might explain how you can keep being so fucking reckless.”

She is breathing hard. Matt places a hand on her cheek. He can feel the dampness under his fingers and smell the salt. She pushes his hand away.

Instead her hands go to his shirt and she starts pulling apart the buttons.

“This is going to cause more questions when the police get here,” warns Matt. “Which will be any minute.”

“Shut up.” Claire pulls the shirt off his shoulders and spins him around. There is bruising, deep bruising. But no open wounds, nothing to get stitched up.

“I promise I’m not bleeding. Please let me keep my pants on.”

Police with flashlights are running across the field. Claire pulls Matt’s shirt up over his shoulders. He hears her move toward Dex, lying unconscious on the ground. He can hear that he is out cold, but still, he steps between Claire and the man on the ground.

“Don’t,” Matt tells her. “Not unless he’s tied down and medicated. And maybe not then.”

Claire lets out a ragged sigh and Matt takes Claire’s right hand in his left. He wants to hold her and make her feel safe. Hell, he wants to feel safe.

“Hands up!” the officers yell.

Matt again slides himself ever so slightly in front of Claire.

“I’m Matthew Murdock, I’m blind, I’m an attorney, and that man just attacked the wedding.”

“On your knees,” yells the cop in charge, in imitation of some police officer he has seen on television. Keeping Claire’s hand in his, he kneels down.

“I knew I should never have come to this fucking wedding,” sighs Claire.


	13. The After Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone returns to the inn to figure out what the hell just happened. Jessica fulfills her detective duty by leading a fireside chat about all the work she's been doing for months in the background with some help from Matt.

It’s nearly 1 a.m. when the officer finally finishes with Karen’s statement. Yes she tells him, that is her sniper rifle. No officer, she bought it at a gun show on the way up so she doesn’t have it registered yet, but she does have a permit for her concealed weapon. Yes officer she shot two people, the man she knee-caped with her .38, again she has a permit, and she also shot the hands of the man about to kill Matthew Murdock. Yes, she, Franklin Nelson, and Matthew Murdock are all acquainted with their attacker as the Manhattan District Attorney and every other person in New York City could tell you. Eventually, Foggy had forced the police to release Karen and the two of them had walked out into the night to find the car Marci had left for them.

“They really didn’t seem to believe that Danny Rand and I were capable of fighting off two assassins either,” Foggy complains. “Obviously this stings my pride, but Danny is pissed. He offered to fight the police. Which fits with Danny’s brand right now.”

Karen laughs but understands Danny’s annoyance. She might not have Frank’s precision, but she certainly would have shot those men if she could have.

They exit the police station and find Matt and Danny waiting by the car.

“Where’s Claire?” asks Foggy.

“I got her out pretty fast,” reassures Matt. “A lot of witnesses said she saved their life by helping them get out from the tent.” Despite the circumstances, Karen catches Matt smiling. “That flashlight of hers helped a lot of people.”

Karen walks forward and throws her arms around Matt.

“You saved a lot of people too. I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Matt kisses her cheek and then pauses. She knows he’s listening to her, searching for proof that Karen is okay.

“Thanks for the rescue,” says Matt. Karen rolls her eyes but Matt frowns. “Seriously, thank you.”

“How is everyone else?” asks Foggy. Karen had seen his phone light up throughout her statement as everyone at the wedding, and probably the rest of New York City, had tried to get in touch. Eventually Foggy had just turned off his phone.

“Jessica’s fine,” says Danny. “She’s mostly mad that the inn is out of Jameson.”

“Seriously!” yells Foggy.

“Don’t worry,” Danny says proudly. “I took care of it. Someone’s coming by with more cases first thing in the morning.”

“Thanks,” responds Foggy sarcastically. Danny does not seem to hear it.

“Marci’s okay,” says Matt. “We just got off the phone. She’s been checking in with everyone and reassuring your families and friends that you’re alive and that no one is seriously hurt.” Karen is impressed all over again with just how capable Marci is. If the roles had been reversed, Karen would never have the energy to field all those calls and provide emotional support to all those people.

“What about Betty?” asks Foggy. Karen had heard about that later when the officer had asked for confirmation on Foggy’s statement. Poor girl, Karen thinks. Betty really had terrible luck.

“Police found her tied up in a car. She was terrified, but otherwise unhurt,” says Matt. Karen finds “unhurt” a poor turn of phrase to describe a woman whose date had tried to murder her friends. But then, if anyone on earth understands that extremely specific trauma, it is Matt.

“Well, we may be out of Jameson, but I am willing to drink whatever else is left,” says Karen, and climbs into the car. She hopes Frank might still be lurking nearby, but she admits it is extremely unlikely. The two of them had only just had time to sort Karen’s story before he had disappeared into the darkness. Danny drives and Karen curls up with her head on Foggy’s shoulder in the back seat, thankful he is safe and alive.

***

Claire pours herself another glass of white wine before returning to the fireplace. Luke and Jessica are sitting on the couch. There are inches of space between them but Claire is not an idiot. She also, really and truly, does not give a shit. When Matt had called to say everyone was heading back, the last knot of tension in Claire had vanished. A beautiful zen calm has claimed her and if Jessica asks, she will admit that right now, she feels high as a kite.

“So connect the dots for me Jessica. What the hell happened tonight?”

Jessica swirls her bourbon and tilts her head. Her arm is in a sling, mostly to keep Jessica from moving it. Claire wants to find her a deer stalker hat and pipe. In a room like this, she half expects to find those items casually strewn around for decoration.

Before Jessica can begin, the door opens and Danny, Karen, Foggy and Matt walk inside. Whereas the rest of them have had a chance to shower and change, these four are in assorted states of mess. Karen’s jacket is gone and there are a few grass stains on her skirt and her knees, which gives her an oddly innocent appearance considering their night. Foggy is somehow still in his jacket, although there are tears in the elbows and his hair is sticking out at all angles. Danny, obnoxiously, looks pretty much exactly the same. Matt somehow looks worse than when Claire had been forced to leave him. The sight of him shatters Claire’s calm and in its place is years worth of fear and frustration.

At the police station, someone had taken Matt’s suit to analyze the blood stains and then had outfitted him in a sheriff’s office t-shirt that is too big as well as a pair of sweatpants. The whole look reminds her of when Luke, Jessica, and Matt had been brought unconscious and battered into the police precinct. Luke had obviously been completely unscathed, but his shallow breathing and unconscious state had given him the appearance of a beautifully laid out corpse. Jessica had sported a few bruises, and had been on the verge of waking up, which Misty had used to justify sending her right to interrogation. And then Claire had been alone with Matt for the first time in almost a year. It had been horrible, running her hands over him not knowing what was wrong. Seeing all the welts and new scars. Foggy had shown up halfway through and helped her change him into the NYPD’s clothes. She remembers staring into Foggy’s eyes over Matt’s unconscious body and both of them trying so hard to be strong. When Claire had eventually forced herself to go back to Luke, who she had left with Colleen, she had burst into tears. Colleen had rubbed her back while Claire had held Luke’s hand feeling horrible and guilty.

Claire’s eyes roam over Matt now. The grey clothes really highlight how ghastly his skin looks contrasted with green and blue bruises forming around his broken nose and along his cheek bones. A patch of gauze is taped to his temple. Claire wants to rip up his shirt and check his ribs again. She had probably missed some cracks.

Before she can say anything Marci sprints down the stairs. She is wearing black yoga pants and a t-shirt that says “Bitches get things done.” Her hair streams behind her like a giant blonde cloud as she leaps into Foggy’s arms. Impressively, Foggy catches her.

“Foggy Bear!”

“Babe!”

Claire, and the rest of the room avert their eyes. There is a moment of silence before Jessica clears her throat.

“I was just about to fill Claire in on what I know about tonight,” says Jessica. “If that would be at all interesting to anyone else.”

“I for one,” says Foggy, “would really appreciate that. But also, for my conscience, would you mind hiring me as your attorney. My retainer is five dollars.”

Jessica reaches into her pocket, which Claire, and everyone else, suspects is a lost cause. Luke puts his hand on Jessica’s and then pulls out his wallet. He hands Jessica five dollars, “for services rendered,” and Jessica crumples it into a ball and chucks it at Foggy with her non-dominant hand.

“Remember you’re still my lawyer too Franklin,” says Luke.

“Noted,” says Foggy, picking the money off the floor. Foggy looks around the room. “I think I am legally bound to all of you now,” says Foggy, “you may proceed.” Jessica gives him a sarcastic bow.

“About eight months ago an auditor from Royce Edelman hired me because she believed one of her clients, she wasn’t sure which, might be trying to intimidate her into quitting the firm. She specializes in real estate and she had been flagging a lot of shady accounting practices. However her gut was telling her it might be Rand Real Estate Development.”

“I clearly have some things to look into,” says Danny.

“The intimidation started small, but then last winter, five men tried to kidnap her daughter from a cookout.”

“A cookout?” asks Foggy. “In the winter?”

Jessica shrugs.

“Lady was a very rich auditor. A lot of family money. It was some fancy party. The food was only okay.”

“You stop it?” asks Luke.

“Yeah,” says Jessica. “Eventually. Heather had hired some full time muscle at that point and the whole thing ended up a bloody mess. I got the kid back, but lost the guys. Which is when I called Claire to make sure she kept an eye out for Russians with gunshot wounds.”

“The Russian connection was a pretty big clue, but unfortunately the kidnapping attempt made Heather skittish. She stopped paying me and threw me off the case. Want to take it from here Matty?”

Matt, who had been leaning against the wall, walks forward. Unable to help herself, Claire gets up from her chair and tugs Matt over to sit down.

“Claire--”

“Don’t fight me,” she warns him. “I’m getting you ice.” Claire walks over to the bar and grabs a couple beers from the fridge. There’s a towel on the rail which she fills with ice. Claire hands the towell to Matt and then with some gauze from her purse, wraps the beers against the bruising on his sides.

“How am I supposed to talk with this on my nose?” he asks.

Claire shrugs.

“Figure it out.”

She hears Foggy chuckle. Matt sighs.

“It’s technically not my turn,” Matt admits. “It’s Frank’s.”

“That’s okay,” says a voice from the dark corner of the room. “I think you can handle my part.” Everyone freezes, except for Karen.

“I thought you’d left!” Karen exclaims, sounding hurt. Claire feels her eyes bulge as Matt’s elegant friend throws her arms around The Punisher and plants a light kiss on his cheek.

“I needed to be sure you were good,” Claire hears the very scary man murmur.

“How is he still hot?” Mutters Foggy at Claire’s elbow.

“I see what you mean about GI Joe in action,” says his wife.

“Am I crazy?” asks Claire. The question isn’t directed at anyone but she feels Matt reach for her arm.

“No,” he disagrees. “And thank you.”

“Carry on Red,” says Frank, who has his arm around Karen’s shoulders. Now that they have moved into the light, Claire can see his hair has fallen out of its bun and is framing his face. The Punisher looks like an extra in a biblical epic. If Matt’s right and she is not crazy, Claire fears for the world that is.

“Jessica’s kidnapping case might have gotten covered up, but about a month later Frank put on quite a show hunting down a sex trafficking ring to a barge in the Hudson off Hell’s Kitchen. Between the girls and the dead enforcers the story made national news and the Russian mob’s activity in Hell’s Kitchen was suddenly getting too much attention.”

Claire looks over at Jessica who is looking vaguely ill. Luke has his arm around her shoulder now and is muttering something in her ear. Claire thinks of Trish again, who had honestly wanted to do so much good and had ended up doing so much harm. How does one draw the line? Claire wonders again. Foggy has chosen their institutions, no matter how imperfect. Matt has his crusades against specific injustices, adjudicated by him on a case by case basis. Luke has chosen to see the underworld of Harlem as a place for revolution. Frank has his old testament code and a remarkable ability to shoot with clarity, at least for now. And Danny, well that is where it all falls apart, thinks Claire. Danny’s mystical problems are something else entirely.

“Following the shootout, a couple people approached Nelson, Murdock, and Page saying that they, and everyone they knew, had been turned down for the subsidized housing guaranteed to a third of the tenants in the new Rand building. A few of them even said they had been intimidated when they tried to go to the city by people with Russian accents. Karen did some digging and she was able to discover that most of the low income housing slots had been sold through the same broker, a man with ties to the Russian mob. We started building a class action suit against Rand for breaking the law, and we alleged that the new housing project was being used for money laundering.”

“Daredevil,” and Claire clocks Matt’s dissociation, “started trying to map out the structure of the Russian organization and find some more compelling evidence linking the money to Rand.”

“Can we say RRED?” asks Danny. “It feels a little less personal.” Jessica rolls her eyes.

“I learned there was going to be a meeting between some executives at Rand and some higher ups in the Russian organization. I followed them to the new building in Hell’s Kitchen, but it was set up.”

Claire reaches out and grabs Matt. She can hear the crash of another building and the awful paralyzing horror of knowing Matt is inside. She feels Matt’s fingers slide between hers, so he’s holding her hand. Claire closes her eyes and can feel his pulse beating. She swallows and takes a deep breath.

“I made it out in time,” reassures Matt. “And I wasn’t really the target. Someone, I thought Rand, was cleaning up some embarrassing loose ends. The blast took out three key men in the Russian organization and sent a pretty clear message. Losing the building also had the added benefit of collecting some insurance money and wiping the accounts of the dirty money. Meanwhile, Jessica was still working her case.”

“Which no one was paying for,” grumbles Jessica. “See, Frank’s bust up of the sex trafficking ring had started an official investigation and a couple names came up as people who had been, serviced.”

“The word you’re looking for is rapists,” growls Frank from the corner. Jessica purses her lips.

“Yeah, Frank, if I may call you that. These rapists had gone through the Russian mob to procure girls with little to no experience. And one of the men on the client list, according to Misty, was my ex-client’s father, Maxwell Glenn.”

“Wait,” frowns Matt, “You were working for Heather Glenn?”

“Heather Thompson now, but yeah, that’s her maiden name,” affirms Jessica. “Why, you know her?”

“Ah, not really,” mutters Matt. Foggy snorts.

“They dated,” snarks Foggy. “Matt called her the stalker. She did not take the break up well.”

“Thank you Foggy,” drawls Matt.

“Anytime buddy,” Foggy smiles.

“Anyway,” interrupts Jessica, “It seemed odd that while Heather's father had been working for the city, his daughter and grandkid had been targeted. I thought maybe someone was trying to send him a message, maybe someone at Rand was trying to force him to play ball. Even being named as a client in the sex trafficking case could have been punitive.”

“Around that time,” continues Jessica, “Foggy’s name started coming up a lot. Rumors about his political career. Some people were...are excited to see the Noble Nelson do something about corruption. But between the class action suit, the sex traffic case, and the promise of Foggy Nelson in the DA’s office, other people got real anxious. It was suggested that there was only one way to keep you from becoming a problem,” says Jessica, “But it was mostly speculative and I couldn’t track anything to a specific source.”

“Jessica shared the info,” says Matt, “I had been following the Russians, but after the blast they had not been up to much. It was clear Foggy was the least of their issues. It almost seemed like they might be taking their orders from someone new.”

“I’d asked Malcolm to tail Maxwell,” says Jessica. “I was hoping to get some evidence that Maxwell was being coerced into helping push through real estate projects. My mistake was not realizing Maxwell had ordered the kidnapping of his own grandkid when his daughter refused to sign off on Rand’s audits and as well as the audits on lot of other firms paying into Maxwell’s racketeering scheme. Poor Heather had no idea just how shity her dad is. Yesterday, Malcom called to say he thought Maxwell had just ordered a hit on someone.”

“Okay,” says Foggy. “So this whole thing is just about my new job? How the hell did Dex get involved?”

From his corner, Frank stands up.

“That may have been me. A bunch of the usual enforcers were planning on being here last night. I heard about it from a girl I know. I stopped them. Seems this Maxwell decided to get creative. Those men from yesterday are a more specialized class. Whoever that man is, he knows people in high places. You just got very unlucky.”

“Is it over then?” asks Marci.

“Nah,” says Frank. “It’s never really over.”

The room is silent. Claire looks down and realizes she is still holding Matt’s hand. She feels grateful for the contact.

“God that’s deep,” Jessica groans. “Hey Franklin, isn’t it your wedding. When are we gonna do some fucking dancing.”

“You want to dance?” asks Foggy skeptically.

“Fuck yes,” says Jessica. “Danny, hook up your phone to the sound system. And if you play anything with chimes know that I will rip your heart out like The Temple of Doom.”

“Here,” says Foggy, handing over his phone. “If you load my Spotify you will find the entirety of my wedding playlist which I shared with the DJ.”

“Why did you bother with a DJ,” asks Luke, “if you were going to give him the full set list.”

“Don’t get him started,” groans Karen from the corner. “I cannot hear one more story about Foggy’s DJ problems. The silver lining in this wedding ending the way it did is that Foggy can never complain again about the wedding industrial complex. Because that will be the last thing anyone wants to know about tonight.”

“Well it worked out for us in the end,” says Foggy. “Because I have the perfect playlist. Crank it Danny!”

Danny shuffles around ineffectively trying to figure out how the sound system works. It isn’t really Danny’s fault, thinks Claire, that a lot of technology is foreign to him. Eventually Foggy takes his phone back and plugs it in himself.

“Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh. Caught in a bad romance,” sings Lady Gaga. Claire raises her eyebrow at Foggy.

“This is how you were kicking off your wedding?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” says Foggy. “And it’s just that kind of attitude that loses you DJ privileges.” He takes Marci’s hand and spins her before gathering her in his arms and the two of them start rocking out. It might be the cutest thing Claire has ever seen in her life.

“Come one Claire,” says Danny, taking her free hand and pulling her into the middle of the room. “We can’t let them dance alone.” She feels the snap as her right hand is tugged free of Matt’s. She looks back at him, but with the ice on his face she is not sure what he is thinking. She pulls herself together and decides to show Danny what real moves look like. For all this was Jessica’s idea, Jessica’s arm is clearly bothering her more than she’d like. Claire sees Luke slide behind her and Jessica leans back, so they are swaying together while Jessica continues to sip her bourbon with her good hand.

It seems not everyone has gone back to the city as the music brings down a few other wedding guests and soon there are about twenty people rocking out to Foggy’s admittedly pretty fun playlist.

Claire looks back for Matt again but he seems to have disappeared. Worried, Claire walks out of the room, sticking her head in the library and the lounge, but Matt Murdock is gone. Sighing, Claire goes back to the bar to get more white wine and finds Foggy at her elbow. He’s mixing gin and tonics with a far away look in his eyes. Claire gently places her hand on his arm.

“Are you sure you want to join the DA’s office?” asks Claire. “You could just stay at Nelson, Murdock, and Page.”

“Aaah,” says Foggy. “Not sure that’s much safer. I think I’d rather be throwing real bad guys in jail.”

“You know the prison-industrial complex is a blight on society,” says Claire in her best third-grade teacher voice.

“One thing at a time Claire. Marci and I have long-term plans.” He’s grinning, but Claire can tell he is dead serious. Foggy may look boyish and sweet, but there is a maturity to him that Claire envies.

“Who’s going to come by with donuts and coffee with you gone?” Claire sighs.

“I could ask Matt,” offers Foggy with a wicked smirk.

“You and Marci are too happy,” Claire complains. “You’re doing that thing happy people do where they try to set up their sad friends.”

“That’s a thing?” asks Foggy with mock confusion.

“That’s a thing,” Claire confirms.

“Well I don’t know where I could have gotten the idea that you two might be good together,” Foggy drawls. Marci is making her way toward them and Foggy reaches out to help guide her to the bar. “Hello wife!”

“Hello husband!” Marci replies.

“Claire tells me we’re deliriously happy. It’s making us imagine things.”

“Ha,” says Marci. “Is she saying we imagined all the hand holding and longing looks.”

“Apparently,” Foggy replies.

“I’m starting to understand why someone would want to kill the two of you,” gripes Claire.

“Too soon,” scolds Foggy. “You gotta wait until, like at least the next day.”

“And too bad,” says Marci, “because Matt is back and the next song is a slow song.”

Right on cue, the beat fades out and Billie Holiday’s “I thought about you” wafts through the room. Claire watches enviously as Foggy and Marci hold each other, gently swaying to the music. She catches Marci looking off into the crowd and Claire has a strong suspicion about who she has spotted.

Staring at her glass of wine, Claire waits. Sure enough, she feels Matt approach through the throng of bodies. His hand brushes hers but she is too nervous to look at him. Which is silly. They are both grown ups who have known each other for a very long time now. They have been through terrifying things together. But the intensity of those feelings and the danger inherent in acknowledging them, even a little, makes Claire pause. At last, she takes a deep breath and turns to face him, letting herself take in his change of clothes.

“You should have gotten me. I didn’t get a chance to do anything earlier about that cut on your head,” says Claire, clinging to the safety of her professional persona.

“I got patched up at the station. There’s nothing else you can do tonight,” Matt replies, his voice curt. His hand that was so achingly close moves away to grab the gin and tonic Foggy had left behind. A guardedness falls over his face which hadn’t been there before.

“And what did I do,” croons Billie, “I thought of you.”

Claire had thought that common sense and rational thinking could get her out of this twisted mess. And it hadn’t worked. Instead she had left herself with all the worry, all the fear, all the frustration, and none of the comfort and pleasure of having Matt in her life. She still is not sure in what capacity she is prepared to have him, but denying how deeply she cares certainly has not solved anything.

“Do you want to dance?” asks Claire. She feels him tense next to her and then relax. Carefully, as though he expects Claire to change her mind, he takes her hand. She threads her fingers through his and then, as naturally as breathing, moves in to rest her head against his. She can feel his chin in her hair and smell his soap. She closes her eyes and tries to reach out with all her senses, stretching herself as much as possible to take in the music, the laughter, and the feeling of Matt’s heart beating. Matt’s other hand rests gently on her sweater, just over the top of her jeans. He is a surprisingly good dancer, leading her around the makeshift dance floor.

“I did call,” she hears Matt say quietly.

“No you didn’t,” Claire retorts. “I found out you were alive from Foggy.”

“I know,” he says softly. “I’m sorry. I thought I would be in the way. You clearly didn’t want Luke to know.”

Claire grimaces but has to acknowledge Matt didn’t come to that conclusion on his own.

“Sometimes I think if what we had was a little bit more, or a little less, I’d have a better idea where to put it,” confesses Claire in a whisper. “But it’s not something I really know how to explain, even when I can explain. It’s too, almost.” Claire squeezes her eyes closed as if that can somehow make her feel less exposed. “I should have told Luke. And I should have told you about Luke.”

“Well, obviously I knew,” says Matt.

“I know,” Claire agrees. “But that isn’t an excuse.” They continue dancing. Part of Claire registers that the slow song stopped a long time ago. But it seems silly to move away now when she is finally starting to feel comfortable.

“I did call though,” Matt reiterates. “In June.”

June, Claire ponders. She pushes back slightly so she can see his face.

“Was it the night the building collapsed! Were you hurt?” She feels the sob threaten to form at the end of the last question.

“I called before that. I had been thinking of you. Russian mobsters were threatening. There were some shady real estate practices, and then there was Foggy and the wedding. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Claire runs her thumb under both her eyes and leans back in so her head is tucked in next to Matt’s. It’s silly, he can’t see her cry with his eyes anyway. And she can’t hide it from him. The best they can both do is pretend they don’t know.

“I thought, I worried that I’d missed you,” Claire says at last. “I did call back.”

“Ah,” Matt mumbles. “Well my phone may have been the true victim of the building collapse.”

Claire tightens her grip and feels Matt’s involuntary wince.

“That’s it,” says Claire. “I’m taking a look at your ribs and then I am getting more ice. Holding his hand, Claire drags Matt back toward her bedroom and her medical supplies. Matt doesn’t struggle.

***

Jessica watches Claire and Matt exit hand in hand with undisguised interest. Maybe Claire isn’t the most repressed person she’s ever met. Jess looks down at her empty glass. Repressed isn’t really right or fair, Jessica corrects. Claire just likes to be in control while simultaneously being attracted to what Jessica can only describe as hot messes. And Jessica includes herself in that description. She tilts her head up so she can see Luke, it’s an awkward angle with her back still pressed into his chest, but she can see his serious face tracking Claire and Matt to the staircase. Luke catches her staring and meets her eyes.

“I suppose you know about that?” he asks.

“Not my business,” says Jessica.

“Been going on long?” asks Luke.

“Couldn’t say.”

Luke runs his hand along his goatee.

“Should I be worried?” he asks at last.

“Depends,” says Jessica. “What are you worried about?” She doesn’t move, wondering if Luke will push her away.

“I don’t want her to get hurt,” Luke sighs. “She doesn’t deserve that.”

“No,” agrees Jessica. “But I think we got to trust that Claire Temple knows exactly what she’s doing. Right?”

“Hmmm,” he mutters, but Jessica feels his arm slide around her stomach pulling her in tighter. Her arm aches a little at the pressure but she ignores it.

After a moment she turns around, bracing her good hand against his chest.

“So?” asks Jessica. “What am I thinking?”

Luke smiles and gently brushes his fingers along the shoulder of her bad arm.

“You should get some rest,” Luke tells her.

“Is that what I should do?”

“Jessica…” his tone is affectionate, if disapproving. She can work with that. She grips the front of his hoodie and pulls his face toward hers, slowly Jessica reaches up onto her toes and kisses him. She can feel him holding back so she lets her lips move up to his ear.

“Take me upstairs,” she whispers. Her voice breaks whatever gentlemanly instincts Luke has because his mouth is on hers and he is kissing her deeply, in public, like they are two horny teenagers at a highschool dance. They break apart and Jessica is ready to jump him again, arm be damned.

“Should we talk about this?” asks Luke. Jessica rolls her yes.

“Absolutely not. We nearly died. We are far from home. It is very late. Pretty sure this is a freebie. If you want to talk later, look me up in the city. But right now….” Jessica kisses him again, her hand running over the muscles at the back of his neck. “No more talking.”

To her delight, Luke scoops her up to carry her back up the stairs. She’s honestly surprised by how into this whole carrying thing she has gotten in the last 24 hours.

“Goodnight Franklin,” she calls. She sees Foggy give her a salute like wave.

***

Karen goes to the bar to get them a drink, squeezing Frank’s hand as she walks away. Even after everything there is a loveliness to Karen that makes Frank’s chest feel tight. Her hair seems to glow in the room making it impossible to not see her no matter where she is. Foggy certainly notices the moment she steps onto the floor and pulls her over to dance to “Come on Eileen,” with him and Marci. Frank finds himself smiling as Karen throws her arms into the air and twirls around the room. Karen and Foggy could be blood, thinks Frank, with their blonde hair, big hearts, and stubborn attitudes. He thinks about Murdoch’s speech and how much love is between the three of them. Karen had said they were family, and that’s what this wedding has felt like.

The memories, as always, come sharp, unbidden, and totally remorseless in their ecstasy and despair. Frank’s head hurts and pain rips through his chest at the images of his own family. He wonders again what the fuck he’s doing here. Course, not that many hours ago he had been pretty damn happy he’d come. What the fuck is he supposed to do about these people who can’t seem to stop getting in trouble.

“I found something,” says Micro in his ear. Frank sits up, grabs his jacket, and slips out through the door in the back.

“What’s happening?”

“All four of your guests today were paid out of a shell company in the Caymans. They also look like they were hired through some sort of networked service on the dark web. Looking at some of the profiles, I think you were dealing with some former Hydra, possibly also this Hand organization you’ve been mapping.”

“So what, there is some sorta app for super assassins? Like uber for killing people?”

“I mean, if we want to be really inaccurate,” says Micro with annoyance.

“What about this Maxwell?”

“Still under arrest in New York. He’s done a fairly good job of covering his tracks, but your friends gave me a pretty good idea of where to start looking.” Frank grunts, pretty sure friends is not the word for Murdoch and his buddies.

“I thought you should know though, on Thursday he paid a visit to the Raft.”

Frank can hear his own knuckles cracking.

“That so?”

“Fisk is in solitary, but I wouldn’t trust that they didn’t have a conversation. Someone gave Maxwell Glenn a tip about how to hire additional fire power.”

Frank rolls his knuckles and feels like reaching for the gun strapped to his calf. He scrubs at his nose which is itching in the cold.

“I owe you.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Micro says. There’s a click and Frank pulls his earpiece out and slides it into the pocket of his jacket. When he turns around, Karen is staring at him, her white arms wrapped around her lovely pink dress. He can see her shivering.

“What are you doing?” he asks in exasperation. “It’s cold and dangerous.”

Karen pivots and squints into the darkness. He doubts she can see anything from her vantage under the porch lamps.

“The police took my gun,” says Karen. “Do we need to warn the others?”

Franks pulls off his coat, walks over, and wraps it around her shoulders, letting his hands linger on her arms, holding her in place.

“We’re fine. For now,” says Frank. This close Karen is positively illuminated. Every part of her seems to attract the lights. Her hair, her skin, her eyes, all glow. His hand catches the strand of hair that always falls in her face and he wonders at how soft it is before pushing it behind her ear. Karen closes her eyes and leans into his palm. She’s like a cat sometimes.

“Bad things are coming,” Frank warns her, the way he had tried to warn everyone else earlier.

“They always are,” Karen replies with composure. “But good things are coming as well.” Her hand wraps around Franks’ and she moves closer, holding his gaze. He’s fascinated by her eyes. Karen may have the biggest most expressive eyes he has ever seen. Windows to the soul and all that, but with Karen he could believe it.

“Frank, I don’t want you to stick around because you think you need to take care of me or protect me. No one can really do that for another person. That’s not a burden I want on anyone. And selfishly, that’s really not what I want you to want from me.”

Frank doesn’t know what to do with Karen. She talks in riddles instead of just saying what she means. He reaches for her other hand, keen to try to hold onto her somehow.

“I need you to be safe Karen. Always.”

“And what else do you need?” asks Karen, her voice just above a whisper.

“I don’t need anything else,” he replies, his own words quiet to match hers. She moves her hand to slide up along his chest and Frank leans down, resting his forehead into her shoulder.

“You don’t need me to hold you?” asks Karen.

“No,” says Frank even as his arm wraps around her waist.

“You don’t need me to kiss you?” He feels her lips on the top of his head. He takes a long breath.

“No,” he murmurs.

“You don’t need me to stay with you, so that two of us can finally stop being lonely?”

“You’re not alone Karen,” he objects. “You have Murdock and the Counselor. You have your job and your friends.”

“I want you Frank,” and he can hear the desperation in her voice. “Maybe there is not going to be an after. Maybe there are always going to be evil people that have to be stopped. Maybe that’s true. Maybe both of us are always going to be broken because of what happened to us. But I refuse to believe we don’t get to be happy. And Frank, you make me happy.” She is so fierce and so certain.

He still has his head on her shoulder and her arms have gone around him, holding him tightly. He steps back, or tries to, but the moment his head comes up Karen is kissing him. And he is kissing her back.

His mouth is desperate as his lips close over hers. The kiss deepens and his tongue roves over her mouth and he feels her teeth lightly on his bottom lip. He thinks about breaking off but what actually happens is that he presses her up against the side of the building so that he can lean into her and feel her pressed firmly against him. Karen’s nails scrape desperately at the back of his vest and Frank remembers he is dressed like some sort of turn of the century newsboy. Although Karen’s fingers at the buttons over his stomach seem to be trying to do something about that.

“Karen,” he breaths raggedly. “Karen stop.” She does and he can hear her panting as well. Their foreheads are pressed together and her hair is tangled in his. “I don’t know how we do this.” He says, and can hear his voice quaking.

“Me neither,” Karen replies. “But I refuse to let that end us.” Slowly, carefully, she kisses his left cheek, then his right, and when Frank doesn’t move, she kisses his lips again. And this time Frank can’t bring himself to stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit more of a break before the concluding chapters.


	14. The Day After the Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night after the disaster wedding, everyone has to face the choices they made the night before. Weddings are weird side universes where everyday life feels far away. But when they end, reality has to be renegotiated. Matt and Claire, Karen and Frank, and Jessica and Luke decide what they want their future to be.

Matt wakes up with a throbbing skull and generalized pain all over his torso and back, which is pretty much business as usual. What is unusual are the slow deep breaths next to him. He reaches out and lets his fingers brush Claire’s back. She is still fast asleep in her sweater, curled up next to him on top of the blankets. He stretches out with his senses, feeling the dappled warmth of sunlight on his face and the light breeze blowing through the window that Claire must have opened. From across the vineyard comes the pastoral hum of birds, insects, and leaves fluttering in the wind. Downstairs, he hears silverware clink against plates and smells coffee brewinging. Without the city noises he can not be sure, but he would guess it is around eight o’clock.

Next to him, Claire groans and rolls over and her breath is warm on his face. He feels his pillow recede under the weight of her head. Matt smiles and holds himself very still, hoping she will slip back into sleep, at least for a little longer.

Claire had kept both of them up half the night, but it had been nurse Claire who had been doing most of the steering. She hadn’t liked the color of the bruising, and had been correct about the cracked ribs. To bring down the swelling, Claire had shoved Matt into an ice bath, which while certainly a good idea, had been miserable. Matt had tried to tell her this was the kind of thing he could do for himself, in his own room. He had tried to make her rest. But Claire had not allowed it. Instead, she’d sat outside the bathroom door and made him talk to her in order to monitor his speech and ensure that he hadn’t thrown a clot from all the trauma. Somehow, she had got him talking about when Fisk returned. He had described waking up at the church with Maggie, and the intense sensory deprivation he had experienced. But he hadn’t quite managed to tell her who Maggie really is. After, Claire had insisted he stay so she could continue observing his concussion. Apparently stories of head trauma had not made her feel much better about his condition. Matt had woken up once in the middle of the night and found her observing him.

“Talk to me Matt,” she had said, her voice gentle but firm.

“Go to bed,” he had told her. Then he’d felt her hand on his head and the wonderful feeling of her fingers sliding through his hair as sleep reclaimed him.

Listening to her now, her even deep breaths and her slow steady heart rate, he wonders when she finally let herself crash. The room is a little cool, so carefly, slowly, he takes the blanket he had been sleeping under and bends it back over Claire, cocooning her. Waking up here feels nice. Despite the pain and the knowledge that everything that happened yesterday is just the beginning, Matt feels himself smiling.

The moment is short lived. Nothing had happened between them, not really. The situation he and Claire find themselves in is no different than it was five years ago. If Claire had been unwilling to love him when world class assassins were NOT dropping in on rural weddings, he can’t imagine this weekend will have changed her mind. And she doesn’t need to love him. Really, there are a lot of ways to care about people and to have them in your life. Just because he wants to run his thumb along her bottom lip or hear her gasp as he moves his hand across her bare skin does not mean…

Matt pulls himself together and flips onto his back and takes a couple deep meditative breaths. Again, he reiterates, there are a lot of ways to love people. He can be happily part of Claire’s life without expectations. Sure, he has reasons to believe the attraction he feels is, and has always been, reciprocated. But attraction is not everything.

Reluctantly, Matt slips out of bed and fumbles for his hoodie. He needs to return to his room where he can assess his injuries, meditate for a bit, shower, and brush his teeth. As he walks out the door he hears the moment Claire wakes up. She blinks slowly as she takes in her surroundings. Matt could turn around, lean forward, and kiss her while the glow of yesterday and their near escape still lingers. But it is just not a gamble he is willing to make. He fucks everything up eventually. Better to go now that Claire is finally speaking to him again then to go all in and wind up lonelier than he was before.

***

Jessica wakes up naked and content with her head cushioned on Luke’s chest. She pinches him and feels Luke shift beneath her as he snaps awake.

“You’re still here,” says Luke. He sounds so pleased it hurts Jessica’s heart a little bit.

“Well I couldn’t go back to my room,” Jessica reminds him. She thinks about Matt eagerly following Claire up the stairs.

“Right,” says Luke. “Sorry. This might be awkward for you.” Jessica lifts an eyebrow and pushes herself off Luke. Her t-shirt is somewhere. She feels the throb in her upper arm. It is not as bad as some injuries she has had, but there is something about the ache of a deep wound that just reverberates in her stomach. While the slight nausea puts Jessica off food, coffee is definitely a must.

“Let’s get breakfast,” says Jessica, finding her shirt at last. “Franklin owes us after yesterday.” She feels Luke’s arm go around her waist and she sighs when he kisses her bare shoulder blade.

“I have to go,” says Luke. Jessica turns, frowning. It is not that she is expecting anything. There is absolutely no reason to be disappointed. She and Luke are not off on some sort of couples vacation. And if anyone had suggested she go on a couples vacay upstate to peep some leaves she would have told them to fuck off.

“Now?” asks Jessica, furious with herself for being annoyed with Luke.

“I wasn’t actually planning on staying,” admits Luke. “I have things to see to back in Harlem. Especially now.”

“Right,” says Jessica. “Well, don’t let me keep you.” Luke keeps his arm around Jessica, holding her still.

“I’m just a train ride uptown,” Luke reminds her. “You don’t have to be a stranger.”

Jessica sighs and turns to face him. No point avoiding this.

“And if I go uptown, who will be there?”

Luke bows his head and kisses the curve of her neck. She waits, but he doesn’t answer.

“If you really need me,” Jessica promises. “I’ll come. And when you’re ready, you can find me. Not that I will be waiting. Just that I’m really fucking easy to find.”

“What are you going to do about Franklin?” Ask Luke.

“You don’t think this Glenn guy did it?” asks Jessica.

“Oh he’s guilty,” Luke assures her. “And I’m sure Matt and Franklin will do everything they can to get him convicted. But you gotta admit, this doesn’t feel done.”

“Maybe,” agrees Jessica. “But I need to start working paying gigs. Matt can take it from here.”

This time Luke sighs and Jessica raises her eyebrow.

“Jessica Jones,” says Luke. “I do not believe you. Just, be safe.”

Jessica leans in and kisses him one last time.

“See you around Luke Cage.”

***

Claire heads downstairs, her hair still damp from the shower. She spots Foggy and Marci on the couch by the fireplace eating pancakes. Matt is sitting with them at a high backed chair. The swelling around his nose is already going down, but the bruising is a particularly luminous purple. The bandage on his head is coming unstuck and Claire is itching to fix it. But the thought of going full nurse again makes her feel slightly guilty, like she is imposing herself where she isn’t wanted. She thinks of Matt sneaking out of her room in the morning. She needs coffee to deal with this.

There is a large silver coffee urn on the bar with a glass pitcher of milk resting in a bowl of ice. Jessica is next to it, grabbing a tiny china mug off the rack to fill up.

“Why would anyone want a mug this small?” Jessica grumbles.

“No real New Yorker,” agrees Claire. Startled, Jessica’s head snaps up. Interesting. Claire didn’t realize it was possible to catch Jessica off guard.

“And how was your night?” asks Jessica, deftly recapturing the advantage.

“Well Matt didn’t have an aneurysm so I guess we can call that a win,” Claire replies since there is no denying where Matt had slept. The corner of Jessica’s mouth lifts up ever so slightly.

“Oh, that was a danger was it?”

Claire rolls her eyes.

“Move away from the coffee Jones. I cannot do this without caffeine.”

Jessica slides along the counter and Claire fills her own tiny mug. Next to her, she sees Jessica scanning the room.

“What a pity. It looks like The Punisher isn’t really a B&B kind of guy. I was hoping to have a nice chat over toast and jam.”

Claire turns to survey the room as well. Karen isn’t there either.

“Maybe they haven’t woken up yet,” suggests Claire. Although even she does not think that is likely. It is nine o’clock and you kind of expect a person like Frank to be an early riser.

“Nah,” says Jessica, who is looking out the window now. “Pretty sure his car is gone.”

Claire wants to ask Jessica if she is okay. To ask about Trish. But Claire can’t quite bring herself to.

“Where’s Luke?” she asks instead, and realizes only after the words are out how loaded they must sound.

“Gone too,” Jessica replies. Her shoulders are a bit hunched and both hands have gone around her mug. Claire, gently, takes it from her fingers and refills it.

“It’s fine Jess,” Claire tells her, handing back the full mug. “Honestly. We’re cool. You two don’t have to worry about me.”

“Ehh,” Jessica dissembles. “The two of us aren’t gonna be up to much of anything.”

Surprisingly, the emotion Claire feels the most is disappointment.

“I’m sorry. Luke’s an asshole.” It’s not really what she means. But there is no brief way to convey how disheartened she feels about all of Luke’s decisions over the last two years.

“I’m also an asshole,” Jessica reminds her.

“Pretty sure you’re a hero,” Claire disagrees. “Matt would be dead if it wasn’t for you. Actually we’d all probably be dead if you hadn’t taken down the tent.”

“Hero, asshole. Same thing,” Jessica grunts. Claire feels her eyes flick to Matt who is laughing at something Foggy said.

“You may have a point,” Claire concedes.

“When do you want to leave?” asks Jessica. Claire considers, her eyes still on Matt.

“I think I need to take care of something,” says Claire. “Give me thirty minutes.”

Jessica nods and goes for her third cup of coffee.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

***

  
The suburban Target with its bright fluorescent lights, giant ailes, and high ceilings is strangely surreal. Karen can’t remember the last time she had been in a store this big. Throwing heavy items like cases of sparkling water and canned goods into the cart feels indulgent compared to her usual practice of making sure she never grabs more than she can carry back to her apartment. Of course, walking a giant metal shopping cart with Frank Castle at her side like they are a normal couple doing the weekend shopping is certainly adding to the strangeness.

Frank’s look has shifted again. The hair is still long, but it is partially hidden underneath a beanie. His leather jacket and jeans seem to fit in with the casual upstate vibe. It’s Karen who looks out of place in her grey dress, belted wool coat, and flats. She tells herself that she just came from church and is getting some errands done before they go to her parents’ house for dinner. No one will ask, but Karen feels more comfortable having a character to fall back on, just in case.

She gets to the cell phones and the prepaid sim cards and assesses quickly before grabbing the Nokia and three months worth of data. She shows it to Frank who pauses, listening to the voice in his ear, and then nods. Karen tips the items into the cart and they walk on quietly.

“I think that’s everything on the list dear,” says Karen as they circle back to the front of the store. “Unless you need to stock up on anything?”

“Oh I’m just swell honey,” says Frank with a wry smile that makes Karen want to giggle. They pass the toy aisle and Frank stops, that awful look ghosting across his face and Karen knows he has disappeared for a moment. She rests her hand on top of his and waits for Frank to come back. At last she feels him squeezing her fingers in return.

“Want to tell me about it?” asks Karen. But Frank shakes his head.

“Not now.” His gaze is still focused on the bright pink row of toys.

“I loved Barbie when I was little,” confides Karen. Frank looks at her, breaking his gaze from whatever is triggering him.

“Yeah?”

“I loved imagining each doll was a different person. I’d spend ages thinking about where they lived, places so much more exciting than small town Vermont.”

“My girl liked Barbies too,” says Frank. “Her mom and I weren’t sure Barbies were a good idea. Lotta people said they gave girls dumb ideas about what they should look like or be. But Lisa insisted she needed one. She would come up with all these stories. How her doll was named Beth and that Beth was a marine just like me. And she would tell me all about Beth’s adventures. She even cut that doll's hair off to make her more like a soldier.”

Karen smiles and slides her arm through his.

“Cutting off your Barbie’s hair is a rite of passage. We all did it, and it was never a good idea.”

Frank smiles, and Karen thinks he looks more fond than sad.

“She was so mad about how it came out. Maria and I bought her a new doll, but Lisa said that soldiers had to make hard choices and it was better to be smart than pretty anyway.”

Karen smiles at Frank and leans into him, but the gesture doesn’t seem to have the desired effect. Frank steps back, the frown lines on his face shadowy hallows.

“What is it?” asks Karen, brushing her hair behind her ears.

“This thing, about me,” says Frank, “it might never go away you know?” He sounds so earnest and so guilty. Karen steps forward but Frank backs away.

Karen remembers waking up that morning, just as the sky was lightning, with his arms around her. Warm and relaxed, she had felt so completely whole. Karen recalls his hand idly playing with her hair. He had stared at the lock between his tattooed fingers, as if it was somehow remarkable and special. She wants to go back to that place.

“I’m not waiting for it to go away,” Karen says, quietly. “I know they are still there. For you the present is...complicated. But I still want to be a part of it. You can tell me about them. I’d like that. The way you love them, that is also part of what I love about you.”

Karen had not meant to say that. She had definitely not meant to say that in a Target on a Sunday morning on two hours sleep. Why is she such a mess of a person?

“You sure about that Karen,” asks Frank. “Because I don’t think I can handle...if you change your mind later…” His voice is rough and strained. Karen steps forward again and slides her arms underneath his open coat so she can press herself against him and hold him still.

“I’m sure.” Karen tilts her head up and kisses him. “But you better keep that phone with my number or I may reconsider.”

***

Matt is doing a valiant job of pretending he is paying attention to Foggy and Marci who are discussing their honeymoon. Originally, they had been planning to leave for the Amalfi coast on Tuesday after Foggy’s press conference. Now they have all been asked not to leave the country as the police begin investigating the attack at the wedding.

The local authorities are highly suspicious of all the bruising and damage to Dex and have not believed for one second that the blind attorney is responsible. Matt and Foggy had done all they could last night to keep Luke and Jessica off the police’s radar, not to mention Frank. But judging by Foggy’s conversations with the department this morning, the Sheriff is sure someone else had been on the scene. Of course, the Sheriff’s Department is also very overwhelmed, thinks Matt. So maybe they won’t be able to do much follow up. Word of the attack had gotten out pretty fast and even at midnight the officers on duty had been fielding calls from various newspapers and broadcast news teams.

Now, down at the end of the long dirt driveway which connects the vineyard to the main road, Matt can hear the press vans idling on the other side of the police blockade. While no reporters have made it to either the remains of the tent or the inn, Matt knows it is only a matter of time.

“I’m just glad I got all the insurance,” sighs Foggy. “I hated paying for it at the time, but I just knew this wedding would be a disaster.”

“You knew a group of assassins were going to try to murder you?” asks Matt.

“Well not exactly,” says Foggy. “I would be equally unsurprised if a giant sinkhole had opened up under us and literal demons had tried to drag us to hell.”

“I would find that surprising,” drawls Marci.

“Now that you’re married to me sweetheart, it’s going to be all demons all the time,” Foggy warns, throwing an arm around his wife.

“That was definitely left out of the proposal,” Marci mutters. Matt smiles at them, relieved that Foggy is still making jokes. As long as Foggy is grumbling, Matt thinks, they can get through this. But he still wishes he had done a better job of keeping him safe. And with Foggy gone to his new job, it may be even harder for Matt to know when things are bad.

At the bar, he catches Claire saying his name. His head tips involuntarily toward her, but her conversation with Danny has moved on. He tries to focus his attention back on his friends but Marci seems to have picked up on his lapse in concentration.

“Claire is pretty great,” comments Marci. “But sometimes I worry she works herself too hard. It must be exhausting to care that much and to grind away day after day at a job that stressful.”

“She’s certainly pretty great about giving advice she doesn’t take for herself,” says Foggy.

“What are you two doing?” Matt asks suspiciously.

“Us, nothing,” scoffs Foggy. “We’re just having a nice normal chat about our friend Claire who we think is pretty great. But who we also think takes on too much and should do a better job caring for herself.”

“She spends so much time looking after other people,” adds Marci, “but it would be nice if someone looked after her for a change.”

“You’ve made your point,” says Matt.

“What point?” asks Foggy. “We’re just discussing the benefits of healthy partnership. On that subject, I heard from Brett this morning that he was thinking of asking Claire to dinner.”

Matt’s hand reflexively grips his fork. He stabs it into his eggs.

“Didn’t Brett just get divorced?”

“That was over a year ago,” says Foggy. “A year is plenty of time to move on. And I guess he and Claire really hit it off over cocktails. I told him it was too bad he didn’t come down for our 1 a.m. dance party.”

“Hmmm,” Matt grunts.

“Was there something else I should have told him?” asks Foggy. Matt thinks about flicking his pancake into Foggy’s face. Instead, he throws down his fork and crosses his arms.

“Morning Claire!” chirps Marci. Matt should have noticed her coming, but he’d been so annoyed with Foggy he had tuned out the footsteps approaching from the bar.

“Morning Marce,” says Claire. “How are you this morning?”

“Missing the adrenaline,” says Marci. “This week is going to be a mess.”

“I bet,” agrees Claire. There is a pause and Matt waits. He feels again the strangeness of being with Claire in the context of his normal life. Her relationships with his friends are so established, so clear. Seeing her with Foggy and Marci only accentuates how tenuous his connection to her really is. “I’ve been talking to Danny, and we both think Foggy and Marci should ride with him back to the city.”

“I can handle it Claire,” snaps Matt, stung. He is banged up for sure, but he’ll be able to anticipate problems on the road. And if there is trouble, he is fit enough to handle it.

“Danny is going to call a helicopter which will cut the time and make it less likely you’ll run into anything...unpleasant.” Claire turns so she is facing Matt. “Matt can ride with Jessica and I.”

Matt is so blindsided he can’t think of anything to say at all.

“Oh, well that is very generous of Danny,” says Marci politely. “A helicopter would be convenient.”

“We’ll take Marci’s car,” continues Claire. “Just in case anyone is looking for it. We’ll find someone else to drive back Jessica’s. And that way I can get both Matt and Jessica to the clinic.”

“Claire, I’m fine,” Matt retorts as Foggy approvingly gives a thumbs up.

“Good,” sighs Claire. Matt can hear how tired she is. “Matt, your head is bleeding again so I am going to need you to come with me.”

Her hand goes around his and she is pulling him out of his chair and dragging him toward the back of the room and in front of a giant window. She twists his chin toward the warmth of the natural light and he hears the snap of her gloves and the rustle of her bag as she pulls out an alcohol based cleanser and gauze.

“Claire, this really isn’t necessary. The helicopter is a good idea, but I can go with Foggy and Marci. And there is a place I can get patched up back in Manhattan. You don’t have to keep worrying about me.”

The antiseptic stings and he tries not to wince. The gauze pad dabs at his head and then he feels her firmly press the butterfly bandage to head.

“I should shave your hair,” Claire mutters. “This isn’t going to stay for long like this. But it’s not deep enough to really need stitches. Maybe some staples if it opens up again before we get back to Brooklyn.”

“Claire-” Matt starts again.

“I heard you the first time. And the second time. And the third time. You’re a big boy who can take care of himself. And because you say that I just magically stop worrying and stop caring. Well guess what. It doesn’t work like that.”

The frustration in Claire’s voice hits something raw and sharp inside Matt.

“You could trust me,” Matt counters. “I’ve made it through worse without you.” She leans back and Matt knows he’s gone too far. How are they in a fight and what the hell are they fighting about?

“You did,” agrees Claire coldly. Her gloves snap off her hands and hit the table next to the discarded gauze and paper from the butterfly strips. She stands up and gathers the trash off the table. “I guess I made a mistake. Do what you want Matt.” The sound of her walking away makes him want to break something.

He is not alone long before Jessica saunters over. She had been across the room, but Matt is sure she had been watching.

“Don’t be an asshole Matty and accept the ride.”

“I don’t want to leave Foggy,” Matt shoots back. He is relieved it is Jessica now and he can be as rude and angry as he wants.

“Huh, is that what you told Claire? Cause it sure didn’t look like it.”

Matt turns his face away from Jessica, but he can feel the muscle in his jaw twitching.

“God you’re blind,” mutters Jessica.

“Pretty sure God knows.”

“I have absolutely zero idea what Claire sees in you,” Jessica snarks. “But if you are gonna throw her concern back in her face you can get fucked. Or more accurately, you won’t.”

“Well what am I supposed to do? Claire is happy to be the nurse, but she’s been pretty clear that is all. She is looking for something else. And that is fine! I get it. But then what does that say about me if all I do is make her miserable?”

“You are such a headcase,” Jessica grouses. “Stop making this so twisted. Let her check your thick skull for fractures. That will make her feel better. Then when she’s done, ask if she wants to get food. Buy her something she likes. Then walk her home so she feels safe. After a couple days, find some time in your damn day to go back to Brooklyn and get food again. It’s called dating. People do it all the time.”

“And you know this from experience?” asks Matt, arms crossed.

“Fuck yeah,” says Jessica. “Do you know how many cheating spouses I’ve tailed? I could give you a full itinerary for New York’s hottest spots.”

Matt chuckles despite himself and feels some of the tension in his neck ease.

“Are you done self flagellating?” asks Jessica.

“For now,” agrees Matt.

“Good. Then grab your stuff so we can get out of here. If I have to look at these poor Bambis for any longer I might go on my own murderous rampage.”

Matt stands up and reaches for his cane, only to remember he left it with Foggy and Marci. Tentatively, he puts his hand on Jessica’s elbow. She lets him.

“You really think dinner will work?” asks Matt.

“Only one way to find out,” says Jessica.

  
***

Claire is waiting by the car when Matt and Jessica come out with their bags. She watches as Matt reaches for the back door, but Jessica shoves him out of the way.

“You take the front,” says Jessica. “I plan on sleeping all the way back to New York.”

Claire opens the driver’s side door without a word to either of them. His face pointed away from her, Matt climbs into the passenger seat. They ride in silence for thirty minutes. Claire keeps the radio off and Matt seems to be listening to the road but so far everything seems normal. No one is tailing them. In her rearview mirror, Claire catches the moment when Jessica actually drifts off instead of just pretending.

“I’m sorry,” says Matt. It feels like he is always saying that to Claire.

“For what?” asks Claire. Her voice is tight and angry.

“Being ungrateful, for everything.”

Claire sighs.

“I don’t need you to be grateful. I’m not an idiot. I know you can take care of yourself. And that you’ve got Sister Maggie now for the days when you can’t.”

“Then what do you need from me Claire?” asks Matt. She squeezes her hands on the wheel, unsure how to answer that.

“I need you to be okay,” says Claire at last.

“And I’m not okay now?” Matt pushes. “Because of last night?”

“I don’t mean last night Matt. I need you to be the kind of okay that asks for help. The kind of okay that involves friends and healthy relationships. The kind of okay that has a life that isn’t just violence and anger. And you’re right. Maybe you actually are that kind of okay now. I wouldn’t know.”

They ride on in silence again. Jessica snores slightly as her chin bobs over her chest.

“What would make you feel better?” asks Matt. It’s been so long since he spoke that his voice startles Claire.

“Another look at the cut on your head,” says Claire, directing her thoughts toward the clinic. “Testing for CTE. A plan to get you a new helmet and some body armour. Private security for Foggy and Marci. More coffee.”

“How about dinner?” suggests Matt, his voice not far above a whisper. “Foggy says there’s a good Korean spot in Cobble Hill.”

Claire feels the corner of her mouth twist up.

“I could eat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more short chapter to this story.


	15. The End...of the Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy and Marci are home at last.

Foggy and Marci slump onto the couch simultaneously. With the curtains closed, it feels much later than it actually is. Their suitcases are blocking the front door to the condo and the idea of dragging them to the bedroom to be unpacked seems impossible. Behind him, Foggy hears the bag holding Marci’s wedding dress slide off the table and crumple onto the floor. 

“Alone at last,” says Marci. Foggy chuckles but even to his own ears he sounds tired. His eyes close and he feels Marci’s head settle on his shoulder; but Foggy cannot even muster the energy to throw an arm around her. 

“You aren’t regretting marrying me?” asks Marci. She reaches up to grip his shirtsleeve and her nails dig into his skin. It doesn’t hurt, but he pulls her hand away and then holds it between his own. 

“I would never regret marrying you.”

“Hmm,” mutters Marci skeptically. “Because it seems like you might be thinking something along the lines of, I should never have gotten Marci mixed up with all my weirdo friends.”

Foggy kisses her hand, caught as usual. There had once been a time when Foggy’s favorite people had the decency to pretend to believe his lies. 

“I would never push you away,” Foggy promises. “But I do wish I felt more confident about keeping you safe.”

“We’ll just have to outsource that,” replies Marci. It stings a little. Foggy is not traditional; but anyone who grew up in Hell’s Kitchen would feel their manhood had taken a hit. “What I mean,” clarifies Marci, “is that when I start my new job, I will be in very safe hands during the day. And at night I’ll be home with you. So that’s one less thing for you to worry about.”

“General Counsel of Rand Enterprises,” says Foggy, shaking his head. “I knew you worked fast, but that was one hell of a helicopter ride.”

“It still needs to be approved. But I’m not worried.” Marci sighs. “I feel like I should be reading up on Rand to get ready to review their compliance systems and see what I can do about their dubious contractual obligations. But the other part of me is annoyed that I am not going on my honeymoon!”

“There were going to be Italian wines, pasta, and waves crashing against beautiful cliffs,” mourns Foggy. 

“I was going to try sleeping in,” says Marci, which is adorable. Marci has woken up at five every morning since college. 

“I was actually going to sleep in.”

They sit in silence and Foggy wistfully runs through their planned itinerary and tries to come to terms with all the fine Italian leather goods he will not be purchasing. 

“It wasn’t all a disaster you know,” Marci says, her voice soft. “Matt’s speech was good.” 

“Before the bullets,” Foggy reminds her. He really, really shouldn’t have to remind her about those. 

“Before the evil assassin crashed our wedding, the speech was very nice.” There is a hint of...something in Marci’s voice. The edge of an emotion Foggy cannot quite place. 

“I told you Matt didn’t hate you.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t sure.”

“Well I’m definitely sure now.”

“Me too.” Foggy hears the smile before he turns to see it. Gently he kisses her lips, thrilled with the knowledge he is kissing his wife. 

Foggy had wondered if being married would feel any different. It does and doesn’t. He is the same; but it is like he has passed an exam, graduated, or bought a home. It is the feeling of accomplishment, pride, and deep love. It is not the mercurial rush of a flirtation, the heat of attraction, or even the all-absorbing pleasure of a new relationship. Foggy has felt all that for Marci and more. But after ten years, Foggy feels content to sit by her side in their home.

“I guess the wedding was worth it,” concedes Foggy, kissing the top of Marci’s head. 

“Definitely worth it,” agrees Marci. “I told you so.”

Foggy smiles. Together they contemplate tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading and your kind notes! This fanfic started as a very self-indulgent way for me to explore my favorite relationships and even set up some new ones. I liked the idea of sending a bunch of urban superheroes to the countryside and trapping them together under one roof. Then the story began to strain against those very simple structures and I found that some of the things I was interested in were spilling out beyond what could be accomplished in this fic. Which is all to say that there is currently a document filled with ideas about what happens next. I can't promise a timeline or exactly what form that will take, but I certainly don't believe I am done.
> 
> Thank you again for reading! All the feedback has meant so much to me!


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